I Do Not Fear You
by SlimReaper
Summary: Drizzt finds an injured outcast on Kelvin's Cairn. Nursing her back to health reveals he's not the only one who is more than what he seems. This was written years ago and it shows a bit, but give it a chance. Drizzt/OC, M for nummy lemons later on.
1. Discovery

**A/N: Hello to those who know me and newcomers alike! This is a fic I wrote several years back and decided what the hell, I'll let it see the light of day. It's already fully complete on my hard drive. I mention that for those who are waiting for updates on Necessary Things so don't worry–putting up this new fic won't slow updates on NT! Because God knows NT needs nothing else slowing it down. _*bangs head against wall* *leaves dent*_ Anyway…**

**When I wrote this, I attempted to do so in the "voice" of the original books. Not sure if I succeeded, but I _am_ sure that I'm not going to rewrite it into my own voice! ;) So that'll explain why the style is so different from my other fics or my books. And that's enough blabbing from me.**

**Oh, and I don't own the Forgotten Realms or any of its characters, either. In case you were confused about that. Just don't forget to review, my lovelies!**

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Drizzt Do'Urden stopped so suddenly Bruenor walked right into him. "What're ye doin', elf?" the dwarf demanded, irritated at the delay.

Drizzt stooped to examine the ground, ignoring Bruenor's ill temper. "Blood," he said grimly, touching the ground with a fingertip. His eyes followed the grisly trail along the path ahead. "And it follows our path."

Bruenor grunted and rested a hand on his mithril axe. "Whatever it be, it won't find me unprepared," he said. "Lead on."

Drizzt's lavender eyes picked out patch after patch of blood on the ground as they continued cautiously along the path. When the tundra yielded to the rocks of Kelvin's Cairn, Drizzt drew his scimitar.

"What is it?" Bruenor asked, his axe now in his hand as his eyes attempted to pick out what Drizzt had seen in the darkness.

The drow prodded something with his blade. "A Yeti," he replied. "It's dead." He bent and grasped the handle of a small dagger embedded in its throat, wiping the blade on the dead beast's fur.

Bruenor visibly relaxed. "Sure'n that explains the blood."

"No," Drizzt replied, spotting more dark splotches upon the rocks further up. "The bloodstains continue."

They walked on until they reached the mouth of the shallow cave Drizzt called home, the trail of blood leading their way. Outside the dark cave Drizzt motioned for Bruenor to wait and entered his home alone, his lavender eyes flashing with anger at the intrusion of his privacy.

Bruenor waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the handle of his axe. Drizzt could hear his tapping clearly in the black cave, but it was not the only sound he heard and he followed his ears silently, scimitars ready to forever silence that sound if necessary.

Drizzt glided toward the whisper of breath rasping softly at the back of his cave. When he was within striking distance he drew Twinkle, his magical blade, and instantly the darkness was lit with a gentle blue glow as he prepared to strike.

But the blow never fell. Hearing Drizzt's involuntary gasp, Bruenor ran into the cave, following the blue light of the sword to find his friend. "What is it?" he demanded even as his eyes found the answer to his question.

There on the stone floor lay a figure, torn and bloodstained, but undeniably female. Her hair was dark, but in the dim light the dwarf could not tell if that was its true color or if the strands were darkened with blood. Remembering the gruesome trail they had followed and seeing the pool of blood around her, Bruenor was astounded that she was breathing at all.

The dwarf's sudden arrival seemed to jolt Drizzt out of his shock. He sheathed his scimitars and conjured a small fire, bathing them in sudden warmth and flickering light. "Help me," Drizzt said, moving the limp form nearer to the fire. "We have to find her wounds and stop the bleeding."

Bruenor didn't argue. Together they discovered the full extent of the injuries inflicted by the yeti and their surprise at finding her still alive grew. Four deep claw gashes across her back oozed slowly, but the bites on her forearms, although deep, had already stopped bleeding. However, a long, jagged cut on her leg that ran from her thigh to below her knee that missed the big vein in her leg by less than an inch still bled freely.

Drizzt heated the blade of a dagger in the fire until it glowed red and held it to the torn flesh, searing the edges of the wounds. He repeated the procedure several times until most of the bleeding had stopped while Bruenor cleaned the bites with surprising gentleness. Throughout their ministrations their patient did not move or make a sound, not even when the red-hot metal came in contact with her flesh. Both warriors had seen enough casualties of battle to know that her chances were slim.

At dawn Bruenor rose. "I'll send Catti-brie to ye," he said, lifting his axe and slinging it over his shoulder. "She's the best healer o' us all." Drizzt nodded his thanks as the dwarf stomped out, knowing that the elf needed all the help she could get if she were to survive.

For elf she was, undoubtedly. Drizzt had not commented on this to Bruenor, both of them absorbed in their own tasks, but Drizzt had seen the slant of her closed eyes and the characteristic pointed ears beneath the dark hair. And as he'd wiped the blood from her face he'd seen the tiny mark beside her right ear, barely visible in the dim light—a miniscule eight-pointed star.

The symbol of Eledhwen, ruling family of the Elves.

Drizzt wrapped her in his furs and covered her with his own cloak before tossing another stick or two on the fire. Then he busied himself with cleaning the blood from the cave, the task automatic as his thoughts wandered. Why would one of the Eledhwen be anywhere near Icewind Dale, and unguarded? Surface elves were seldom seen this far north, preferring the forests and seas of the southern lands. King Varmil Eledhwen's influence did not extend this far north—no king was recognized in the Dale.

The only elves in Icewind Dale were outcasts, like Drizzt himself. And any one of them would have recognized the mark of Eledhwen even as he had.

Catti-brie arrived just after midnight, her pack loaded with bandages, pots of unguents and bundled herbs. Drizzt rose in greeting, but the young woman's eyes were already on her patient. "What happened to her?" Catti-brie asked, kneeling down and placing a hand to the wounded elf's brow. "She's freezing!"

"From what Bruenor and I can tell, she was attacked by a yeti," Drizzt said, bringing another log to place on the fire. "We found the body of the yeti not far from here and followed the trail of blood here."

The young woman's eyebrows rose. "Who killed it?"

Drizzt shrugged. "Apparently she did," he said, nodding at the little dagger on the stone floor beside the elf. "This was embedded in the thing's throat. We found no sign anyone else on the trail."

She turned back to the elf, impressed. "I like her already," she said. "Now let's be hopin' she fights these injuries as fiercely."

Catti-brie removed Drizzt's cloak from the elf-woman and handed it to the drow before peeling away the furs. "I'll be needin' some hot water," she said, unwrapping one of the elf's arms and reaching for a small clay pot full of some thick ointment that made Drizzt's nose ache. He gladly went to the other side of the cave to fill a pot with water to escape the smell of the healing mixtures Catti-brie applied to the wounds.

"Nothin' like a yeti-bite for poisonin' the blood," Catti-brie said darkly. "Look, it's already started." Drizzt glanced over and saw that the bites were already an angry red despite Bruenor's careful cleaning. Catti-brie dipped her fingers in the pungent ointment. Noticing the drow's disgusted glance, she smiled. "May not smell pretty, Drizzt," she said, "but it gets the job done."

When the water boiled, the young woman threw some herbs into the pot and set it away from the fire. "When it's cool, we'll strain it," she told Drizzt. "Sure'n she's lost too much blood. If we don't get some o' this into her, she'll die."

Together drow and woman nursed the mysterious elf, sleeping in turns and waiting for any change as the night ebbed into day, and day bled away to night again. They trickled drops of the herbal broth into her mouth frequently and changed her bandages twice a day. Thanks to Catti-brie's meticulous care the wounds on the elf's arms soon lost their threatening redness and began to close, but she showed no sign of returning to consciousness and despite the fire and the furs her skin remained icy-cold.

Three days passed in this fashion before Drizzt shook Catti-brie awake one night. "She's stirring," he whispered, then faded into the deep shadows at the back of the cave. Catti-brie understood his concern. If the elf were indeed waking, it would do her no good to see a drow bending over her. In time she might realize that Drizzt was different from his bloodthirsty kin, but in this delicate state of health it was wiser to delay the shock of seeing him until she was stronger.

Catti-brie knelt beside the elf and gently touched her brow. "Wake up, lady elf," she said softly. "You're safe here."

The elf's eyelids fluttered and she moaned. Catti-brie took her hand and repeated, "Wake up, lady elf. C'mon, open yer eyes." At last her eyelids opened, revealing eyes of the same vivid green as a perfectly cut emerald or a lush meadow at the height of spring. Even dazed and unfocused, those eyes had the power to render Catti-brie momentarily speechless.

"_Manke naa amin?" _

The cracked whisper brought Catti-brie back to her senses but she didn't understand the elf's words. She'd only heard Elven once or twice in her lifetime and knew not one word of the language. She looked around helplessly, not really expecting to see Drizzt but not knowing what else to do.

She was surprised to see him step out of the shadows on the other side of the wounded elf. _"Vys naa varna," _he said quietly in the Elven tongue, telling Catti-brie with a glance not to let the elf turn to look at him, but she seemed too weak to turn her head.

"_Mani marte?"_ the elf whispered.

"_Vys nae harwe e' dagora yassen yeti,"_ Drizzt replied. _"Vys naa varna sii'. Esta sinome, arwen."_

"_Hantale," _she said, her eyelids falling as if the strength to keep her eyes open was fading fast.

"_Mani naa essa en vys?"_ Drizzt asked quickly, seeing that her strength was waning.

"Iralen," she sighed, and then her eyes closed and her fingers loosened around Catti-brie's.

Several moments passed but her eyes remained closed. Drizzt made sure she was truly sleeping before he moved to Catti-brie's side. "What did you say to her?" Catti-brie whispered, still holding the elf's hand. "Sure'n I didn't understand a word."

"She wanted to know where she was, what happened. I told her only that she was safe and that she'd been injured fighting the yeti," Drizzt said, looking down at the elf's bruised but beautiful face. "Her name is Iralen."

Catti-brie looked at him in surprise. "I didn't know you spoke the Elven tongue."

He shrugged. "I learned it long ago," he said simply, "but I've had little chance to use the knowledge."

Knowing Drizzt as she did, Catti-brie suspected he'd learned the language before coming to the surface and discovering how deeply his surface cousins hated his kind. More than anyone else, she knew how he had longed to be accepted by the light elves, how he had hoped they would see beyond the color of his skin and see the color of his heart. She looked down at Iralen and wondered if this one would reward his gentle care with hatred too.

"Well, tis' glad I am that ye knew some words to soothe her," Catti-brie said, releasing Iralen's hand and rising. She was imagining how she would feel to awaken in a strange place, weak as a newborn babe and utterly dependent on strangers.

Drizzt only nodded. "Go to your rest, my friend," he said, smiling at her. "I've interrupted your sleep. I'll wake you at dawn."

Catti-brie went back to her bedroll and lay down, but even as she fell asleep she saw Drizzt watching Iralen from the shadows and wondered how the elf would react to Drizzt when she finally did see his face.


	2. Hope

**A/N: Thanks to the two of you who reviewed! (Wait... _two?_ Surely we can do better than that!) Then again, the first chapter of anything is usually the most boring, so I won't whine. (Much.) Here we go again–hope you enjoy it!**

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Iralen did not wake that next day but Catti-brie was still reassured, for this was a deep, healing sleep and not the ominous unconsciousness that had held her for so many days. Every time the elf stirred in her sleep Drizzt tensed and the young woman knew he was wondering the same thing she'd been thinking all night.

That afternoon Bruenor arrived to check on Catti-brie and the elf he'd helped save. "D'ye be wantin' me to take her to one o' the towns, Drizzt?" the dwarf asked, seeing with satisfaction the color in her cheeks that spoke of his adopted daughter's skillful healing. He, too, wanted to spare his friend the elf's reaction when she woke again.

But Drizzt shook his head. "She is still very weak, Bruenor," he said. "I thank you for your concern, but I think the journey would be too much for her at this time."

Bruenor shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yer see," he said awkwardly, "we're needin' Catti-brie in the mines. One o' the forges blew this mornin' and—"

Drizzt nodded in understanding. "And now that Iralen is healing, Catti-brie, you must go where others need you," he said. "Go. I'll care for Iralen."

Catti-brie looked from the sleeping elf to Drizzt and the concern in her eyes was plain to see. "We can send Regis to help—" she began, but Drizzt shook his head.

"It will be all right," he said with more conviction than he felt. "If she will hate me, she will do so whether you are here or not. It is nothing I have not dealt with before, and it will not scar me now."

Despite his words, it was with trepidation that Bruenor and Catti-brie left an hour later. Catti-brie had left all her healing supplies and instructed Drizzt in their use, and after one last check of Iralen's wounds, Catti-brie gathered her things. "You're sure you'll be all right?" she couldn't help but ask as Drizzt helped her stow her things in her pack.

Drizzt smiled at her. "Yes," he said. "Don't worry, dear friend. Go to those who need you, with my thanks. When she's fit to travel I'll take her to Regis. If anyone can find out where she belongs, he can." He did not mention his knowledge of her royal kin. "Now go, before you lose the light completely."

But it was with misgivings that Drizzt turned back to the cave, his home, once his escape from the very emotions he was now feeling. For a moment he bitterly resented Iralen for choosing his sanctuary to collapse in, but knew that was unfair. In the same situation he would have crawled into any hole available.

Bruenor had left him several choice cuts of reindeer meat and Drizzt busied himself with cooking for a time, frying a juicy piece for himself and boiling another chunk for broth for Iralen. The smell of succulent reindeer soon filled the cave and Drizzt relaxed slowly, anticipating a good meal after these last days of dried meat and hard bread. He and Catti-brie had been so intent on Iralen's care that they hadn't taken the time to hunt for fresh meat. He glanced over at her with the thought.

It was with a jolt that Drizzt saw her eyes open and regarding him over the fire. He hadn't expected her to wake again so soon! He froze, wondering if she could see him clearly through the flames, if the flickering light revealed his face under the hood of his cloak. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind it was gone, and he was lost in the wonder of her eyes.

They were green, the deepest green he'd ever beheld, and within them gleamed a spark of light like sunlight seen from beneath a deep pool of water. That spark danced hypnotically, drawing him in, inviting him to come drown in those treacherously seductive depths. Only now that those almond-shaped eyes were open did the drow realize the full measure of her beauty. Every feature, from her arching dark brows and high cheekbones to her thick sable hair and those captivating jade eyes, combined to form a face that could make men gladly fall on their swords at a word from those lush lips. Drizzt could not tear his eyes away and though he opened his mouth, he could not find his voice.

It was she who spoke, a mere whisper of flowing Elven breaking the extraordinary spell that held him speechless. "It was you who spoke to me?"

Drizzt nodded, not trusting himself to reply. He had never seen eyes like hers, not even among the elves. He was forcefully reminded of Regis's magical gem that entranced and finally mastered those who looked into it, but he could not tear his eyes away. Never had he even imagined a woman this beautiful and he distrusted it despite his fascination. Such loveliness was unnatural, and he remembered with a quickly-suppressed shudder that the most stunning drow females were also the most cruel. He struggled to look away and shatter the sorcery that held him still.

But then Iralen's eyes fell closed and Drizzt let out his breath slowly, thinking she slept again. The relief was undeniable and he shook his head, ashamed of his own cowardice. If this elf was really the powerful sorceress he imagined, why would she have allowed herself to be so badly mauled by the yeti? Drizzt shook his head again, forcing away the suspicions that had swamped him when he'd looked into her eyes. She was weak and injured, and no threat to a ranger at the height of his strength.

The sizzling of the meat reminded him of the task at hand and he took his portion off the fire, realizing he had almost let it burn in his distraction. As he leaned forward to stir the simmering broth, Iralen's voice again startled him.

"What will you do with me?" she asked, and Drizzt knew then that he had been concealed neither by the flames or the cowl. His dark heritage had been revealed and must now be explained.

Drizzt forced his hands to continue stirring the pot, ignoring their trembling. Her voice had held no revulsion, only curiosity, he realized belatedly. Suddenly his heart was pounding with the hope he could never quite bury that this time, he would be accepted. "I am not like others of my kind," he replied quietly, keeping his eyes on his task.

"You speak Elven," she said, and to Drizzt it sounded almost like an agreement. He looked up despite himself and was again caught by her eyes.

The silence stretched between them, both unsure. Drizzt finally broke away from her mesmeric gaze—pleased to discover that he could indeed do so—and lifted the pot from the fire. He poured some of the broth into a cup and, going to the opening of the cave, scooped a little snow into the steaming liquid before returning to the cave.

Iralen watched him approach, but Drizzt saw only curiosity in her eyes—not fear. He held the cup with both hands to disguise their trembling. When he knelt beside her, indicating the cup, those eyes never left his.

"Will you try to drink a little broth, lady?" he asked, both dreading and anticipating her answer.

It still came as a shock when she nodded. Seeing it in his face, Iralen smiled grimly. "I must trust you," she whispered. "If my death is what you desired, you would have only to have left me where I lay. Therefore you must have some reason to restore me to health. I would be a fool to resist your healing."

It wasn't trust, not trust as he longed to have it. Drizzt's hands stilled their shaking and he called himself a fool as he lifted her head to help her sip the warm broth. She was an Eledhwen, a princess among her people. She would be well versed in the politics of kidnap and ransom. Drizzt wanted to protest, to explain that he had no such intentions, but he swallowed the words before they passed his lips. Like all the rest, her mind had been made up from the start.

When would he learn to stop hoping?


	3. Reflection

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, and sorry this one's a bit short–I'll update again Friday. Thanks, everyone!**

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Iralen woke some time later to find the dawn light bathing the little cave. She looked around and saw the drow sleeping at the far end of the cave, hidden in the deepest shadows. He was wrapped in his cloak but had no other protection from the chill air, and Iralen realized that all the furs were carefully tucked around her.

She remembered the short exchange with the drow last night when she'd awakened to see him across the fire. At first she'd thought she was still caught in the disturbed dreams of illness, but the smell of cooking meat was real enough. He'd kept the cowl of his cloak up, and even though she could not see his face, she'd seen the black skin of his hands and understood what that meant.

But her initial terror had become confused with memories, vague but undeniable, of her wounds being dressed and gently tended. She remembered the fear and confusion she'd felt when she'd first awakened and a soothing voice speaking in her own tongue, telling her she was safe here.

She didn't know what had alerted the drow to her stare, but when he'd looked at her she'd been frozen. At first she thought she'd been mistaken. Drow had red eyes, as fiery as their hatred of her kind, but the eyes that met her own were not red but lavender. She read his surprise in them, and adding to her confusion she saw his black hands hesitate in their work, his entire body going still as a statue.

As if _he_ feared _her._

Iralen shook her head, unsure what to think. She'd seen many different reactions from males at the first sight of her eyes, but this was something altogether new. The drow had only stared, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that should have frightened her but didn't. Instead she'd felt a curious excitement, the same kind of thrill she'd felt the first time she'd clasped a fighting knife in her hand and swept it through the air.

Dangerous—and perfect.

But despite that strange exhilaration he was still a drow, and she was still frightened. Her first fear had been that he would have disfigured her, for Drow were famous for destroying everything of beauty in this world and from infancy Iralen's beauty had been legendary. But this drow, despite the reputation of his kind, had done nothing to destroy her face. Neither had the all-too-familiar gleam of lust glazed his eyes, and for that she was doubly grateful. In her present state, she could not have hoped to defend herself if his thoughts had turned amorous.

It had taken her several long moments to realize he was not going to break the silence, and several more to think of anything to say to break it herself. The few words they'd exchanged had not been enlightening. Why had he healed her, and why had he kept her here in the cave in which she had crawled after the fight with the brutal yeti?

The first thought that had made any sense at all to Iralen was kidnap, but the drow hadn't brought her here—she'd done that herself. Besides, if she was to be bait to her people to draw them to this godforsaken place and into an ambush of drow, Iralen thought she'd be better guarded than by a single sentinel. It made no sense.

But he'd claimed simply that he was different from his kin, and everything in his straightforward manner and simple words had reinforced that claim. If Iralen were facing some horrible fate, it would be very drow-like to tell her in exquisite detail exactly what it would be. Instead, this drow had gently fed her broth, then tucked her in like a sleepy child and retreated silently to his side of the fire.

Iralen closed her eyes again, too tired to figure it out. Whatever the answer was, she would know soon enough. She only hoped she hadn't endangered her people by her rash decision to leave her father's kingdom.

She swallowed, wincing at the dryness of her throat. She wondered when the drow would wake. She certainly didn't want to rouse him for a drink of water, but the thought of just a few drops to moisten her mouth was almost enough to change her mind. Iralen turned her head, trying to find a comfortable position and return to sleep, and found herself looking at a cup that had been left beside her within easy reach, full of cool water.

But even as she reached for the cup, her arm shaking with weakness, the drow came silently to her and helped her to sit and drink. When Iralen's thirst was quenched he lay her gently back onto the furs, tucking them warmly around her again before returning to his shadowy corner.

As sleep claimed her, Iralen wondered again if she had correctly judged his motives.


	4. Turmoil

**A/N: Yeah, it ain't Friday yet, but I feel like crap and Drizzt cheers me up, so here's an early update. I'm probably sick because I still don't own him (or his world, friends, etc). PS–Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn.**

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Iralen slept for much of the days that followed. Drizzt still tended her with care, but he deliberately avoided her eyes when she was awake. He remembered all too vividly the uncertainty those brilliant green eyes had awakened in him, the paralysis of mind and body. He'd never felt at such a disadvantage in all his many years as he had when captured by Iralen's gaze. It felt as though she could see straight through him, right into his heart and all the hopes and fears he so carefully concealed there.

But he could feel those eyes on him constantly, whether he was rebuilding the fire or dressing her wounds, preparing a meal or sharpening his blades. She seldom spoke, and when she did Drizzt answered without looking at her. He did not ask any questions about how she came to be there. He knew too well that Icewind Dale was no one's destination of choice.

The only conversation Drizzt initiated came when Iralen woke to find him sharpening his scimitars. They were magical blades and did not need the attention, but the drow found the work soothing in his state of turmoil. When he'd felt Iralen's eyes on him, he carefully set aside the scimitars and drew a small sheathed dagger from beneath his cloak before moving to where the elf lay.

"I believe this is yours," Drizzt said quietly, placing the hilt of the dagger in Iralen's small hand before she could flinch away.

Iralen had stared at the weapon in astonishment, giving Drizzt a rare chance to study her face without the risk of being captured by her eyes. Her dark hair was tangled, he saw with a frown, but the ebony strands still shone in the flames of the fire. Her skin was losing its pallor and fragile roses bloomed in her cheeks. Her lips were full and pink, faintly moist. Even with her remarkable eyes downcast, the sight of her was as potent as any drug. Before Drizzt could avert his eyes Iralen looked up.

"Why do you arm me?" she asked, and Drizzt closed his eyes briefly against the surge of emotion the vulnerability in her eyes awoke in him.

"You have no need of arms against me, lady," he murmured, beginning to back away again.

Her hand on his arm stopped him. Drizzt's eyes flew open at her touch and a jolt of shock ran through him, but Iralen did not remove her hand. "Thank you," she said softly, tucking the sheathed blade against her breast. "Where did you find it?"

Drizzt forced himself to meet her eyes again, to prove to himself that he could control his reactions. "I pulled it from the yeti you slew," he replied, genuine admiration in his quiet words. "You have my respect, lady. I know of few warriors who could slay such a beast with so small a blade."

Iralen could find no falsehood in his lavender eyes and her brows drew together in confusion. "Did—_did_ I slay the yeti?" she whispered. "I do not clearly remember what happened."

Drizzt explained what he had been able to discern from the tracks he and Bruenor had followed. Iralen listened without replying, her hand still on his arm. He felt her tremble at the mention of the hideous yeti that had attacked her and felt the sudden mad desire to cradle her in his arms and swear to defend her from all such beasts. It was insanity. He knew what her kind thought of him.

Drizzt pulled away with determination.

But Iralen just watched him with those eyes, jade to match her name. Drizzt stared fixedly at the stars visible through the mouth of the cave. A long moment passed before Iralen broke the silence.

"Why have you helped me, drow?" she asked, but her lips did not utter the name with hatred. Drizzt sighed and continued to look at the stars.

"I would have done the same for any living creature," he replied. It was ever his fate to have his actions met with suspicion, but he still tried to explain. "I am not like others of my kind."

"No, you are not," Iralen agreed, and she didn't miss the sudden stiffening of his spine. "I do not know what to think of you, drow. I do not understand you."

Drizzt rose abruptly to his feet, suddenly unable to contain his anger. "My name is Drizzt," he said, looking down at her. "Drizzt Do'Urden. Not _drow._ And had I fairer skin, you would understand me very well."

The silence that followed was tense and soon impossible to break. Iralen clutched the hilt of her dagger as she watched Drizzt strap on his scimitars and walk out of the cave. He felt her eyes on him even after he had blended into the shadows and felt as though her gaze were stripping him bare.

What was happening to him? He climbed the rock wall at the side of the cave and perched above the little opening, surveying the night before him. It was a view that had always brought him peace, but not this night.

The elf was in his head, stealing his sense, confusing his thoughts. Was she a sorceress, an Elven witch who could steal his soul and will with those supernaturally exquisite eyes? Even when she slept his gaze was drawn to her, to the dark sweep of her lashes against her fair cheek, to her full lips parted enticingly in sleep.

If Iralen had only been beautiful Drizzt could have dismissed the distraction she presented with ease. But she was also fierce, slaying a ten-foot high yeti with a six-inch long knife. Her fighting spirit mirrored his own. Her strength astounded him as every day she fought to regain her health. And when she looked at him, her eyes held only curiosity.

Not fear. Never since her first sight of him had she looked on him with the terror and hatred he had come to expect from her kind. She did not flinch when he touched her to tend her wounds, only looked at him with a quiet serenity that made it difficult for him to maintain his focus. She looked at him like a man, not a monster. Drizzt ran a hand through his white hair in frustration at his own desire.

If the gods had purposefully created a woman to tempt Drizzt Do'Urden, they could not have made one more perfect for the task than this elf who had collapsed at his very door. Everything about her called to him, made his sleep restless, constantly aware that she lay only a few steps away. It was torture. He had always yearned for the impossible but this was far beyond impossible. It was madness to even consider her in this way.

Suddenly the image of her tangled hair came to Drizzt and with it the overpowering desire to do something about it. He moved silently, leaping lightly from his perch and glancing back into his cave from the shadows. Once he was sure Iralen slept again Drizzt pulled out his most precious treasure, a small black carving of a panther.

"Guenhwyvar," the drow murmured to the statue. "Come to me, my shadow."

The magical cat suddenly appeared at his side, growling a friendly welcome. Drizzt sank his fingers deeply into the thick fur, once more enjoying the companionship of this, his truest friend. "Watch over my home," he said softly to the great cat. "There is an elf sleeping inside. Do not frighten her, but let no harm befall her."

Guenhwyvar tossed its massive head and trotted into the cave, docile as any house-cat. Drizzt had to smile at the thought. The magical cat was an adversary to be feared, no tame pet. He felt no hesitation at all at leaving Iralen in Guenhwyvar's care this night.

Soon Drizzt was again striding across the open tundra, the wind in his white hair. He moved fast, lavender eyes scanning the horizon for any adversaries, the miles rolling away beneath his feet as he neared the small settlement of Lonelywood and the home of his halfling friend Regis.

By moonset Drizzt stopped before Regis's door and knocked softly—twice, then once, then after a pause of two heartbeats once again. Almost at once the door swung open and Drizzt smiled down at his friend.

"Drizzt!" Regis greeted him happily, pulling the drow inside. The halfling looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed, which was undoubtedly true, but beamed up at his friend in welcome anyway. Drizzt took a place by the fire as Regis prodded the coals with a poker until they glowed warmly. "What brings you to my corner of the world?"

Drizzt suddenly found his throat blocked and cleared it. "I would buy a piece of your scrimshaw, Regis," he said, ignoring the halfling's frown of confusion. "Have you made any hair-combs?"

Regis raised an eyebrow. "You cross the tundra in the middle of the night and rouse me from my bed to buy hair-combs?" he repeated incredulously.

Drizzt shrugged uncomfortably. Briefly he told the halfling of finding Iralen in his cave a week ago, ending with the condition of her hair, looking fixedly into the shadows and glad for once of his dark skin as he felt his face heating under Regis's scrutiny.

Regis studied his friend for a long moment but what he suspected or guessed he did not say, and for this Drizzt was doubly glad. Instead Regis padded over to a little trunk and unlocked it. "Bring a light," he said simply, and Drizzt quickly lit a candle in the flames of the fire and crossed to the halfling's side.

Inside the chest, packed with care between layers of fine silk, were a dozen or so pieces of Regis's excellent scrimshaw. The halfling had proved to have a knack at carving the thick skull bone of the knucklehead trout, making a name for himself far and wide in the most lucrative trade of Icewind Dale. Drizzt was impressed indeed at the fine detail and delicate etchings Regis had created. "Beautiful," he murmured appreciatively.

"Yes, she must be," the halfling muttered, distracted by his search and missing Drizzt's frown at his words. He rummaged through the silk-wrapped pieces until he found what he was looking for and held it out to the drow. "Here you are, my friend," he said as Drizzt unwrapped the delicate wrapping. "One of my best works."

Drizzt held the comb in his hand with reverence, deeply impressed. The ivory-like bone had been carved into the shape of a gnarled tree, the roots forming the teeth of the comb. Hidden in the branches, tiny leaves sprouted and miniscule flowers bloomed, transforming the old tree into a thing of beauty. "It's lovely, Regis," Drizzt said truthfully. He reached for the bag of coins at his belt.

Regis stopped him with a shake of his head. "It is a gift," he said with a smile. "I owe you this much and more. Do you see anything else you fancy?" He waved a casual hand at the small fortune of delicate work in the trunk.

Despite Drizzt's protests, when he left Regis's house he carried not only the comb but also an intricately carved bracelet resembling interwoven vines. Regis hadn't let him refuse or pay for either piece, and had wrapped them in several squares of the fine silk before tucking them into a leather pouch with care. When Drizzt left, Regis watched him out the window with a smile on his face and concern in his eyes. Many times the halfling had sold young men a trinket or two for their chosen girl, and Regis would have had to have been blind not to recognize the same look in Drizzt's lavender eyes when he'd asked for the gifts for the injured elf.

"May she be worthy of you, my friend," Regis murmured to the night. "Yours is too great a heart to break."


	5. Gentle

When Iralen awoke she somehow knew that Drizzt was gone. She struggled to sit up, gasping at the pain from her mangled back and leg at the movement.

At once a magnificent black cat leapt out of the shadows and loped easily over to her. Iralen grasped for her dagger, heart pounding, but the cat only reached out a gigantic paw and gently pressed her back onto her furs. Iralen stared stunned at the animal for a long moment, but it made no threatening moves, only settled back onto its haunches and gazed at her.

"Are—are you from—from Drizzt?" Iralen managed, unable to think of any other explanation for the huge animal's appearance.

Guenhwyvar looked with curiosity at the elf and tossed its head at its master's name. Iralen eased her grip on the knife and slowly relaxed again.

For a long time they regarded each other, elf and cat, until near dawn Guenhwyvar rose and leapt lightly over Iralen to the mouth of the cave. Iralen again sat up with difficulty, muffling her gasp of pain, but the cat didn't return to her side. At last Iralen understood that Drizzt must be approaching and hurriedly straightened the furs covering her.

Drizzt entered the cave as the dawn broke over the sky. He went to the fire without looking at Iralen and warmed his hands near the flames. Several minutes passed before he looked up, and then he blinked in surprise to see her sitting up. His sharp eyes noted her pallor and the drawn corners of her mouth and he quickly crossed to her side. "You're in pain," he said with a frown. "Come, lie down and rest."

But Iralen shook her head with determination and resisted when he attempted to ease her back down. "First the cat, now you," she grumbled. "I have recovered all the health I can by lying still. It is time I began to move about and regain my strength."

Drizzt saw the blood on the back of her dress seeping through the bandages covering her back, and he frowned even more darkly. "You've reopened one of your wounds," he said sternly.

Iralen looked at him in surprise to hear the genuine concern in his gruff words. "It is fine," she said softly, again laying a hand on his arm. "Believe me, Drizzt. I can no longer lie here on a sickbed."

His name slipped off her tongue with such ease, thought Drizzt as a shiver made its way down his spine. To hide his turmoil he looked again at her back. "If you can stand it, lady, I will tend to these wounds," he said, already reaching for the supplies Catti-brie had left him.

"My name is Iralen," the elf said, squeezing his arm lightly before he could pull it away. "Why do you call me only 'lady?'"

Drizzt went very still at her side. For a moment she thought he would not answer, but at last he met her eyes. "Your name is also Eledhwen," Drizzt said quietly.

Iralen's hand went unconsciously to the tiny mark beside her ear. "You knew?" she whispered, her voice a mere breath in the still cave. "Does anyone else know me? Did you tell anyone I am here?"

"No one," he reassured her swiftly. "I have told no one, lady."

She went limp with relief. Drizzt caught her shoulders to steady her. "Are you all right?" he asked uncertainly.

"Don't let them take me back," Iralen whispered suddenly, her eyes finding his with fierce intensity. "I will not return there!"

Drizzt didn't understand her agitation. All he knew was that he could not bear it. "I will keep your secret, if that is what you desire," he said. "I will let no one take you against your will." Iralen covered her face with her hands and he turned to remove the bandages on her back without speaking.

Only when the four slashes were again covered with clean bandages and Drizzt had settled her comfortably on the furs did Iralen speak again. "My given name is Veryien," she said, staring into the flames. "But my family has called me Iralen since I was a little child. It is not a name that will be recognized, not a name that anyone would think to report to my father. I'm sure he is searching for me, but I did not think he would search here in Icewind Dale."

"What drives you here?" Drizzt asked. "What brings you so far from the warm south to this place?"

She smiled, but her eyes were sad. "You will likely think me a spoilt child," she said, "but I fled a marriage I did not desire. Amandir desired a throne and a tame queen at his side. I have ever been allowed my freedom. I did not wish to give that away, not to one I did not love." She looked at Drizzt to gauge his reaction to her words. "Do you think me foolish?"

Drizzt shook his head slowly. "I do not blame you for wanting to hold on to your freedom," he said. He well understood the need to escape an unbearable future. "But this is a long way to run. Could you not talk your family out of the marriage if it would make you unhappy?" Drizzt knew little of the Eledhwen, but he had always heard that their King was a fair elf and loving to his family.

But Iralen shook her head. "I tried, but a princess has a duty, they reminded me. Alliances must be made, and therefore I was sold. Politics," she said, spitting the word as if it had a bitter taste.

Drizzt was silent. He had always known that marriages among the royal families were too important to leave to something as unpredictable as love, but he had never thought of it in this light. _Veryien_, he thought. _Daring, in the Elven tongue_. It was an apt name. He knew of few, male or female, who would have had the courage to strike out on their own rather than accept less than their heart's desire. With a shiver that felt like dread he recognized another way she was like to him, and the invisible thread of attraction tightened until he could hardly breathe with the need of her.

When at last he was able to look at Iralen again he saw she'd fallen asleep, obviously exhausted by her exertions and their long conversation. He dropped his head to his hands with a trembling sigh. He remembered then the gifts he'd brought from Lonelywood and placed them beside her hand before finding the shadows at the back of the cave for his own rest. He couldn't face giving them to her while she was awake. He feared those green eyes that saw so much would pierce straight through him if he did.

It seemed like only moments had passed when Drizzt was awakened by a small sound, but when he opened his eyes he found the last rays of the setting sun were slanting across the opening of the cave. This time of day was most difficult for his specialized vision—too light for him to see well in the light spectrum, yet still not dark enough for his infrared vision to be of use. He shielded his eyes from the light and focused on the sound that had roused him.

Iralen was awake, again sitting up, the little leather pouch open beside her. The ornate bracelet glowed softly on her lap, her long hair falling over a shoulder. For a moment Drizzt watched her, transfixed, as she lifted the beautifully carved comb in one slender hand.

But as she raised the comb Drizzt heard it again—the tiniest gasp of pain as the movement stretched the injuries of her back and arms, and he knew this was the sound that had awakened him. She brought the comb back down to her lap with a sigh. Drizzt shook his head, wondering why he hadn't thought of this when he'd asked Regis for the comb. Silently he rose and went to Iralen.

Without a word he plucked the comb from her hands and knelt behind her. His fingers brushed the side of her neck as he drew her hair back over her shoulder and began to run the comb ever so gently through the tangled strands.

Her hair was dark as the coming night, soft as liquid silk. How many times had he watched her in sleep, wondering what those dark tresses would feel like in his hands and unable to summon the courage to find out? Now those raven locks slipped through his fingers, a simple sensation that affected him as strongly as the most intimate lover's caress. Drizzt hoped she couldn't feel his hands trembling as he carefully untangled the knots from her long hair. She didn't speak, but bowed her head and sat quietly before him without protest. When her hair lay smooth in his hands Drizzt gently braided it. Only when he had woven her hair into a thick rope that fell to her waist did he reluctantly move away.

Iralen's eyes filled with tears at his gentleness but she was careful not to let him see. Instead she closed her eyes, giving herself fully to the soothing sensation of his hands in her hair. Each time his fingertips touched her neck or ear a little flutter went through her, and more than once she found herself holding her breath. Many times in her life Iralen's hair had been combed by one maid or another, but never had she experienced such a mixture of comfort and excitement from it. When he was finished, she turned to thank him, but encountered only darkness behind her.

Drizzt was gone.


	6. Shame

Drizzt climbed high on the mountain before he dared to stop, lungs aching and heart pounding. The starry sky that had always brought him peace had none for him now. He summoned Guenhwyvar and rested his head against the great cat's side, taking strength and comfort from his loyal companion. "This is impossible," he whispered to the cat, and Guenhwyvar heard the desperation in his voice and growled in the most comforting way it could.

At last his racing heart slowed and with it his spinning thoughts. Only then did Drizzt remember that he had left Iralen completely unguarded. The knowledge that only the most foolhardy beast would dare to approach his cave whether he was there or not brought no consolation. Drizzt couldn't understand how he could have been so lax with her safety.

"Run ahead, my friend," he murmured to the black panther as he rose to his feet. "I will be close behind."

Soon Guenhwyvar was out of sight. Drizzt did not linger. With one last glance at the magnificence of the night sky he followed Guenhwyvar down to his cave, wondering belatedly if the scent of Iralen's blood from the re-opened wound had carried on the night air. He had almost reached his cave when a fierce feline scream shattered the silence of the night. Then he ran, his feet swift as the night wind, drawing his scimitars as he went.

At first Drizzt could not understand what had happened when he reached the mouth of the cave. Guenhwyvar was nowhere to be seen, but a large shadow blocked the mouth of the cave. Two other shadows moved nearby.

He didn't wait to ask questions. In a split second the drow ranger was in motion, blades flying in an unavoidable dance of death.

The yeti that had been blocking the entrance to the cave fell back before him, swiping at Drizzt with its razor sharp claws. A moment later its arm lay on the snow, claws still twitching as though agitated at the loss of their prey. Then Drizzt moved in for the kill, both scimitars plunging into the huge monster's chest. The other yeti closed on his exposed back and Drizzt spun, but something whirled past mere inches from his face and suddenly the beast fell back in the unmistakable spasms of death.

One swift glance around showed him that the third shadow he'd seen was another yeti, but this one was already dying with the telltale slashes of Guenhwyvar's claws marking it. He scanned the shadows but saw no more of the beasts lurking. If there had been more than these three they'd likely fled at his arrival. Drizzt Do'Urden was not unknown to the beasts of Icewind Dale.

But another warning cry from Guenhwyvar sent ice down Drizzt's spine, quenching his battle-lust with a fear he had never felt before, for this time the cat's cry had come from within the cave.

With Iralen.

Drizzt leapt into the dark cavern, his sharp eyes seeing every detail of the black shadows as though exposed in the midday sun, but he saw no yeti. Instead, his eyes fell on Guenhwyvar near the mouth of the cave, lending a great shoulder to steady what was unmistakably the weak and helpless elf.

But as soon as that thought came into his mind Drizzt knew he was mistaken. Weak she might be, but helpless? That word could never be applied to Iralen Eledhwen. Somehow she stood, one hand on the wall of the cave and the other clutching the great cat, the sheath of her little dagger lying empty at her feet. He knew then what had whirled past him, felling the yeti, and his admiration for the elf grew. Even as Drizzt sheathed his blades and rushed to her side he saw her sway with the effort of keeping her feet.

He caught her just as her knees gave way, sweeping her up in his arms even as he scanned the cave once more to be sure that no enemies remained. The cavern was empty save the three of them, drow and elf and cat. Drizzt only then became aware that Iralen was clinging to him, her arms tight around his neck, her quick breaths warm in his ear, her breasts round and soft against his hard chest. It was intoxicating to hold her close at last, intoxicating and dangerous. Her scent surrounded him like a cloud. He had to fight the urge to bury his face in her hair and breathe her essence deeply into his soul. He sank down beside the fire and tried to ease Iralen from his lap, disturbed by her nearness and his own primal reaction to it, but she refused to let him go. She pressed herself more tightly to him and ignored the gentle push he gave her toward her bed of furs. Only when he felt the moisture on his neck did he realize she was crying.

His heart contracted with guilt. "Shh, you are safe now," he murmured, giving in to the desire to put his arms around her again and hold her as he had longed to do these many nights. Drizzt sighed and stroked her hair, giving her what comfort he could, but his hands were trained for war, not tenderness, and he feared to cause her pain. When her tears had ceased he again tried to guide her down onto the furs.

Her whisper stopped him. "Don't leave me," she whispered hoarsely. "Please stay with me, Drizzt."

He could not refuse her.

She finally allowed Drizzt to tuck her into the soft furs, still clinging to his hand. The trembling of her body eased slowly and he thought she slept at last, but he did not leave her. His guilt pounded in his brain, and with it came a feeling he had grown to loathe during his years on the surface.

Shame.

Iralen had only him to protect her, yet in the heat of battle her fatally accurate throw had protected him. Her action had not been without risk, however, for in helping Drizzt she had left herself weaponless, her only thought for his safety.

The very selflessness of that bold throw humbled him deeply. How could he have left her alone, no matter what the turmoil of his heart and mind? Guenhwyvar had been only a murmur away. It had been irresponsible for him to call the cat to him for his comfort, ignoring Iralen's greater need for protection.

So thinking he sat beside her and held her hand, guarding her as the fire burned low and the night wore on.


	7. Fear

He woke before the dawn, disoriented by the feeling of furs beneath his cheek. He didn't remember falling asleep, and he was certain he'd given all the furs to the elf. He soon realized the cause of his confusion as Iralen sighed in his arms.

_In his arms._ Drizzt's breath froze in his lungs as he became fully aware of their position. Iralen's back was snuggled against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin, her legs entwined with his. His right arm cushioned her head, the fingers of her left hand laced through his own. His other arm draped comfortably over her shoulders with Iralen's right hand curled over his biceps, her touch burning against the bare skin there.

They were entwined like lovers, Drizzt realized. He scarcely dared to breathe. His body fitted about hers like a glove, as though he had been created for no other purpose than to lie with her like this. He saw no way of disentangling himself without disturbing her, and indeed the thought of leaving her alone on the furs was almost physically painful to him. The memory of her begging him to stay with her was still all too clear but the trusting softness of her sleeping body against his was almost more than he could bear.

Drizzt closed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to master his breathing against the sudden rush of heat that had nothing to do with the nearby fire. The seductive scent of her hair filled his senses, the silken strands fluttering over his skin with every soft exhalation from her lips. He forced himself to think of something else, of last night's fight with the yeti—

No good. The lust of battle was too close to the emotions Iralen's nearness brought him.

_Think of Bruenor, then_, he thought desperately, latching onto the first thought that came to his mind. The red-bearded dwarf was the least alluring thing he could think of and he clung to the image of his friend, hearing Bruenor's gruff voice and rough words in his mind.

Iralen's foot moved against his calf just then, scattering the drow's thoughts to the four winds. The thick leather of his pants might have been the thinnest gossamer, he felt the unconscious caress so keenly. His heart pounded and he ground his teeth, balling his free hand into a fist to stop himself from returning her caress with interest. Never in all his long years had he been so enflamed or had temptation called to him so irresistibly.

He knew then that he had to move, to put some space between himself and the elf. His body refused to obey him. He succeeded at last in forcing himself to move a fraction of an inch away, releasing him from the full-body contact that was robbing him of his reason.

Iralen frowned in her sleep at his retreat and he imagined soothing the little line from between her brows with kisses. The thought made him groan aloud. How long had it been since he'd thought of kissing? Certainly not since he'd come to the surface world a decade ago. Why did he have to long for the taste of her full lips now when he had banished that desire for so many years?

She stirred then, rolling back slightly, settling only when her back was again snuggled firmly to his chest. The smooth skin of her throat called to him as her hair slid away between them, the braid having come undone as they slept. He knew she would be soft as silk, sweet as ambrosia, and he burned for a taste. _Just one kiss_, he promised himself as desire and heat began to overcome him. _Just one—one little—_

His mouth was the merest breath away from the soft curve of her throat when he caught sight of their linked hands. Reality slammed home with the force of Wulfgar's battle-hammer.

Her slender fingers, so smooth and fair, against his own black hand, darker than night itself. The hand of a princess and the hand of a cursed drow, hated above all other enemies of the elves.

There was no future in this. Even as Drizzt cursed the truth he blessed the return of his reason before he'd given in to the fire swirling through his veins. He could be only a temporary protector to her, perhaps a friend in time. There was no more than that in this world for him.

Iralen stirred again as though disturbed by his sudden withdrawal and Drizzt braced himself warily for her outrage at their embrace. But she only stretched luxuriously, pressing her body against all the places that had been aching for her only moments ago. He bit back a groan and rolled onto his back in a hopeless attempt to make their embrace appear less intimate, his arms falling away with a sharp pang of loss. Iralen yawned and propped herself on an elbow and her long hair slid over his arm and chest as she moved. It sent chills through his entire body. Drizzt was still trying to think of how he could possibly explain his presence on her sleeping furs when she turned to gaze down at him and stopped his thoughts with a smile.

For an endless moment Drizzt was once again lost in her swirling jade eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but could find no words. Instead, those mesmeric eyes compelling him, his own body betraying him, Drizzt found his hands entwined in her silken hair. Before he could stop it he had pulled her down to him and claimed her mouth with his own.

He knew it was hopeless. He knew it was irrevocable once done. But whatever revulsion or fury he had expected from her, whatever reaction he could have possibly imagined, nothing could have shocked him more than the softness that met his questing mouth or the sigh that escaped her lips at his kiss.

He was lost in a single instant.

She was far, far sweeter than he'd dreamed. Drizzt's eyes closed as he savored her mouth, the intoxicating sensation of her warm, yielding body against his, her hands clutching his shoulders. Her hair fell in a curtain around him, creating a world that existed only for them. When her tongue touched his Drizzt thought he would lose his sanity, and in that moment he knew he had lost his heart.

She trembled against him and Drizzt groaned, knowing he could never get enough of her taste. His tongue caressed hers, teased and then plundered her willing mouth. This was no brief kiss but long and slow, deep and intensely hot. His mind reeled from the onslaught of sensation. It was more than he had dreamed, more than he could stand, and at the same time not nearly enough. One of his hands slid down of its own accord to encircle her waist, meeting no resistance when he pressed her even closer so that her body was molded to his from knee to breast. Instead of satiating the madness that raged through him it only drove him closer to the edge. Before he could regain control of his traitorous body Drizzt rolled on the furs, his hungry mouth never leaving hers, and held her beneath him with his weight on his elbows. She gave a breathless whimper and wrapped her arms around his neck, gasping when he nipped her lower lip and soothed the sting with his hot tongue.

Only his sense of honor saved him from losing all control even as her unconscious gasps and little moans of pleasure robbed him of reason. He knew he would never forgive himself if he took her like this, swept away by his passion only to regret it later—and despite her unrestrained responses, he could not convince himself that she would not. He wrenched himself away from her mouth with a groan, but her arms were still around his neck and she did not release him. Drizzt looked down at her and had to look quickly away lest he fall on her again like a starving man at a banquet of delicacies.

But gods, how she tempted him! With every quick breath she took her breasts pressed against his chest and he could feel her heart pounding as wildly as his own. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes the misty green of a rain-washed meadow, her lips red and slightly swollen from his kisses and all but begging him to continue what he had started. Drizzt wanted nothing more than to do just that, to bring those erotic sounds of pleasure from her again and lose himself in the insanity of passion, but he heard himself speak before he knew what he intended to say. "Why did you allow me to kiss you, lady?"

Her eyes sparkled with that hypnotic light even in the dimness of the cave. "Why did you desire to kiss me?" she replied, her voice as breathless as his own. He watched helplessly as the tip of her tongue traced the outline of her lips, licking the taste of him. Unable to speak, he shook his head.

Iralen smiled as though she fully understood the effect she'd had on him. Drizzt's jaw tightened. "Do not play with me, lady, I beg you," he growled, his body burning and his heart filled with the sight and taste and scent and feel of her in his arms.

"I do not play with you, Drizzt," she whispered, her mouth still so close that her breath caressed his lips, sending a bolt of pure hunger straight through his already overheated body. Drizzt drew on some last reserve of strength and did not give in to the overpowering craving to kiss her again, knowing that to give in to that urge now would be to lose all control. He pulled away with an effort and rolled again onto his back, still breathing heavily.

Slowly Iralen sat up, still holding him with her eyes. Only a slight wince crossed her features at the movement but Drizzt saw it, and guilt shot through him. "Have I hurt you?" he asked at once, also pushing himself into a sitting position. What had he been thinking, holding her as he had and pulling her so tightly to him? Why hadn't he been gentler and remembered her injuries?

"No," Iralen said, touching his hand gently and smiling as though she understood his sudden doubts. "You have not hurt me, Drizzt. Thank you for staying with me."

_Gratitude_, Drizzt thought bitterly, snatching his hand away even as his body thrilled to her touch. She offered him gratitude while he had done the unthinkable and given his heart. He nodded briefly and rose, going blindly to the mouth of the cave, knowing he had to get away before he did something unforgivable.

Something like dragging her back into his arms and loving her until she cried his name aloud in rapture, giving her so much pleasure she would give her heart in return. He heard again the soft sounds of passion she had unknowingly made as he'd kissed her moments ago and imagined drawing those sounds from her again and again—

"Drizzt?" Iralen called softly, and hearing his name from her lips at that moment as his mind and body raged in a pitched battle almost pushed him over the edge.

He stopped but did not turn. He could not look at her, did not dare to meet her hypnotic eyes. "Yes, lady?"

"Have I displeased you?"

Drizzt shook his head, his hands thrust into his pockets and clenched into fists to hold on to the last ragged shreds of his control. If only it was that easy! "Nay," he said hoarsely. "You please me far too much."

He heard her hesitant footstep behind him and turned to face her even as he backed away. He held up his hands, stopping her where she stood leaning unsteadily against the stone wall, even as she had the night before. "Don't," he said without meeting her eyes, the closest the proud drow could come to begging for mercy.

Iralen's confusion and uncertainty showed on her beautiful face. "I don't understand," she whispered.

"You are in danger here!" Drizzt shouted, finding refuge in a sudden surge of anger. "Can't you see that? Don't you feel it?"

But Iralen shook her head. "I am in no danger from you, Drizzt Do'Urden," she replied with a surety that shook him to the core. When she saw him glance angrily at the pile of furs beside the fire, she shook her head. "Do you think that I would not fight you if your attention was unwelcome?" Her eyes challenged him. "I am never that helpless."

But instead of comforting him, her words seemed to infuriate Drizzt further. He took an angry step toward her, towering over her, brows drawn together in a thunderous frown. "Would you indeed fight me?" he roared furiously as the darkness flowed from him, cloaking all in shadow but his burning eyes. "You could never defeat me. Fear me, elf, and leave me be!"

Only then did the drow hear the sound of crunching footsteps in the gravel at the mouth of his cave. He whirled with a snarl, his scimitars seeming to appear in his hands at the speed of thought, cursing himself for again letting down his guard.

Bruenor and Wulfgar stood there at the mouth of his cave, eyes wide and shocked at the scene before them, the powerful drow looming over the weak and injured elf, threatening her with his dark powers and deadly blades. Drizzt thrust his scimitars back into their sheathes with self-disgust as the thought crossed his mind that had his friends arrived but a few minutes earlier they could have witnessed quite a different scene. He cast one glance back at Iralen, standing quite still against the wall staring back at him. Despite the fact that she depended on the wall for support, her back was straight and her head high as she faced him.

Without a word Drizzt left the cavern, pushing past his friends and escaping into the open air. Just before he passed out of earshot he heard a faint cry on the wind.

"_Amin umma gorga vys, Drizzt Do'Urden!" _


	8. Challenge

Drizzt ran hard across the plains, ignoring the rising sun and the pain its rays pounded into his eyes. His world no longer made sense to him, and the pain of the sun was insignificant compared to the pain of his heart. Once he had been content, had counted himself rich with nothing more than his own honor, his own respect and the regard of his friends. Now he felt empty, drained of his strength and resolve. Twice now he'd allowed himself to become so distracted that he'd been oblivious to the security of his home. Both times he had been lucky, but he couldn't forgive himself for being so careless with Iralen's safety.

He groaned aloud at the thought of her. How could he have allowed this to happen? What madness had compelled him to kiss her? He could still taste her on his lips, could feel the silk of her hair in his hands, the perfect fit of her in his arms as she slept. And despite his fears that the lovely elf would hate him for holding her in such an intimate embrace, Iralen had smiled to see him when she woke.

And then he'd kissed her and nearly lost both his sanity and his honor.

He didn't understand anything he'd done since that moment. He hadn't expected her to allow his kiss, much less participate with such abandon. He'd been caught completely off-guard again, but this time the danger had been to himself alone. He hadn't escaped unscathed, and it had taken all his considerable strength to escape at all.

Drizzt knew he'd done everything wrong and he didn't know why. Why, when all he'd wanted was to pull her back into his arms and down onto the soft furs again, had he tried to drive her away, to terrify her with his power and his dark heritage? The echoes of her last words reverberated in his head, her answer to his challenge shouted into the wind with the certainty that he would hear her.

_Amin umma gorga vys_. The Elven words meant_, I do not fear you_. Her courage only drew him to her more strongly. She had tempted him far too much before; now that he had tasted the sweetness of her lips and heard the sounds of pleasure that he could bring from her, that temptation was magnified a hundredfold.

Drizzt found that his feet had carried him to the entrance of the mines of Bruenor's people. He was not surprised to see Catti-Brie sitting just inside the dark opening. She had ever been the only one who could anticipate him, or truly understand him.

Bruenor's adopted daughter stood as the drow approached. "Come in, Drizzt," she invited warmly, "where the light will no' bother you."

Drizzt went gladly. Catti-brie peered into his dark face and read much there, and despite his turmoil Drizzt did not hide from her scrutiny. Drizzt's heart was clearly visible in those lavender eyes. The lovely young woman sighed. "Oh, me poor friend," she murmured, sitting again on one of the many rough boulders that lined the entrance.

He sank to the ground at her feet. "What am I to do, Cat?" he asked, covering his face with his hands.

"Does she know ye love her?"

Drizzt shuddered at hearing the words spoken aloud but he did not deny them. "I do not know," he sighed. He told her all that had happened since she had left his cave days before. Throughout the telling Catti-brie was silent, letting him pour out all his pain and uncertainty. More than anyone else, Catti-brie understood his fear. How could he survive it if Iralen rejected him now?

"I cannot face her again," Drizzt said desperately. "I know not what demon prompted me to threaten her! She is so weak, Cat—"

"Yet ye say she took a yeti with a single thrown blade, and in the black of night," Catti-brie reminded him. "I'm thinkin' she's stronger than ye believe, Drizzt."

Drizzt did not reply. He remembered her jade-green eyes, as intoxicating as the most potent liquor. He remembered her kiss, passionate enough to ignite a fire that still blazed undiminished in his blood. He remembered her challenge, shouted into the dawn.

_Amin umma gorga vys, Drizzt Do'Urden._

He had no doubts at all that Iralen Eledhwen was strong. He intensely doubted that he was strong enough to be near her again without losing every scrap of his control, and he did not dare to imagine what he might do if that happened. He was certain that kissing her would be only the beginning.

Catti-brie let the silence continue, not strained but comforting to the drow's raw nerves. She could not stand to see her proud friend thus, crumpled on the ground under the weight of fear. Finally she spoke again.

"Stay here today, Drizzt," Catti-brie said. "I will take Iralen to stay with Regis. By nightfall, you'll have yer home back to yourself. I'll stay with her meself, so ye won't worry for her safety. Come to us when yer ready."

Drizzt's head came up abruptly, but the protest she had expected did not come. Instead he nodded wearily. "Perhaps that is the best path for all," he said dully.

Catti-brie left him then, setting off across the tundra. She felt no fear at crossing the wild lands alone for she was a warrior of renown herself. The few that did not grant her respect and safe passage as the daughter of Bruenor soon learned of her deadly skill first-hand.

Still, night had fallen by the time she reached Drizzt's little cave. Wulfgar greeted her at the door with a gentle hug that swept her off the floor. Bruenor stood just inside the mouth of the cave, worrying his beard.

"Did he go to ye?" the dwarf asked without preamble.

"Yes," Catti-brie replied breathlessly as Wulfgar set her down again. She glanced into the cavern and saw the elf was again resting. "An' I've never seen him in such a state," she added quietly.

Wulfgar looked as worried as she felt. "I don't think any of us have ever seen him like that," he agreed.

"Yea, and what're we t' do?" Bruenor grunted. "I take it he didn't come back wi' ye, Cat."

Catti-brie shook her head. "I told him I would take the elf to stay with Regis. He says he'll not return while she remains here."

Bruenor glowered and Wulfgar shook his head angrily. "What's she done t' him?" Bruenor cried, but quickly lowered his voice when Iralen stirred and tossed in her uneasy sleep.

"'Tis for the drow to set right, Bruenor," Catti-brie said firmly. "We're to set out wi' the dawn, for Drizzt returns at nightfall."

Iralen heard their words and her heart ached. Although she and Drizzt had spoken only Elven, she did know the common tongue and understood Catti-brie very well. She had driven Drizzt from his home, and he would not return until she had been removed.

She cursed herself for yelling after him, a stupid act of defiance after his display of power. But as impressive as that display had been, Iralen had known beyond all doubt that he would never have harmed a single hair on her head. She truly did not fear him. Was she wrong?

She weighed all she knew of Drizzt against all she had ever heard of the Drow. He had not denied the reputation of his people, only stated quietly that he was different. She had been helpless in his care for days and he had cared for her tenderly, bringing her beautiful gifts and tending her with compassion. She reached beneath the furs and carefully withdrew the beautiful comb from its hiding place and clutched it to her heart, remembering how he had combed her hair so gently. This was not the act of an evil monster, despite his attempt to frighten her.

It seemed like years had passed since she had awakened in his arms. Such a feeling of safety and peace had been upon her when she'd felt him beside her that she couldn't help but smile at him. And in return he'd kissed her until her thoughts spun and her heart pounded and she'd clung to him as the only solid haven in the whirlwind. Never had she been kissed like that and she hadn't ever wanted it to end.

But it seemed he'd instantly regretted that kiss. She hadn't known how to talk to him without making things worse after that. Couldn't he see that she'd wanted that kiss too?

Now she was to be banished, a disturbing presence removed to return the peace. She looked around the cave as the three companions talked quietly in the darkness, believing her to be sleeping soundly. In so few days these stone walls had come to feel like home, as beloved as her old home in the south with her family. She didn't want to leave, but she would not refuse Drizzt's express wishes.

So thinking she fell into an uneasy sleep, haunted by the desire for Drizzt's comforting arms around her once more.


	9. Daring

**Again, don't own it, more's the pity.**

.

The trip to Lonelywood was exhausting, even though the enormous barbarian Wulfgar carried Iralen for much of the way. The distance that the drow could travel in a night took the three companions and Iralen two long days.

None of them saw the black shadow that followed, always at a distance.

They reached Regis's home at last and Bruenor knocked. "Who is it?" came a small voice from the level of the doorknob.

"Lemme in, halfling!" Bruenor growled, banging the handle of his axe on the door. "'Tis freezing out here and yer guest is weary."

"Guest?"

The door swung open and Regis gaped at the pale, unconscious elf in Wulfgar's powerful arms, knowing without having to be told that she was the reason for Drizzt's midnight visit. Even after a hard journey and exhausted from her wounds, the elf was a vision of loveliness. But the little halfling said nothing of his thoughts, not knowing what the drow had shared with his friends.

At a pointed growl from the dwarf Regis remembered his manners and ushered them all inside. Wulfgar passed through the sitting room and into the guest room, Catti-brie in tow to check Iralen's wounds and make her as comfortable as she could. Regis hovered in the background, anxious to catch another glimpse of the elf. Wulfgar's large back blocked most of his view, however, and Regis wriggled past the barbarian to stand at the foot of the bed.

It was with great gratification that Regis saw his exquisite bracelet on the elf's slender wrist, pleased that Drizzt's gift had been accepted. Then Iralen opened her eyes and looked at him, and Regis's jaw dropped before he could help himself. Her eyes were incredible, enthralling, the final exquisite touch in a face that could bring men to their knees. Regis understood at once why she had captured Drizzt so completely.

A nudge and a laugh from Bruenor brought him back to his senses. Regis felt his face burning. "Forgive me, lady," he said, bowing low as he remembered his manners. "I am afraid your beauty momentarily robbed me of my tongue."

"And for Regis, that's a rare thing," Wulfgar chuckled. Neither he nor Bruenor intended to spoil the halfling's humorously courteous greeting by telling Regis that Iralen did not speak their tongue.

Regis sent the barbarian a glare that Wulfgar ignored. "I welcome you to my humble home," he continued as though there had been no interruption. "If there is anything that you require, please mention it to me and if it is to be had within Icewind Dale, it will be yours."

"Thank you, noble halfling," Iralen replied in the common tongue, causing Wulfgar's and Bruenor's jaws to drop in turn. Her lilting accent turned the words to music. "I thank you for your kind hospitality. There is nothing that I desire."

But the misery on the elf's exquisite face told its own story. Regis, however, mistaking the expression for fatigue from the journey, began his role as Iralen's host by chasing the three warriors out and closing the door gently behind them, leaving Iralen alone.

Wulfgar and Bruenor left the next morning but Catti-brie stayed behind, ostensibly to ensure that the elf had not suffered a setback from the journey while also keeping her promise to Drizzt. But although Iralen remained pale and quiet, she ate the food brought to her, and was out of bed again within two days for short times. At the end of a week she was able to move at will through Regis's little house although she showed no interest in anything outside the doors.

Catti-brie spent hours trying to draw the elf into conversation, and while she learned much of the reason for Iralen's escape to Icewind Dale (although nothing of her royal heritage), Catti-brie never heard the elf speak of Drizzt. If Catti-brie mentioned the drow, Iralen's clear green eyes would cloud and she would stare silently down at the intricate bracelet that never left her wrist.

A week passed in this way. Regis had taken great trouble to acquire a fine dress for Iralen to replace her ruined gown, and the elf's kiss on his cheek had won the halfling completely. When Iralen wore the dress to breakfast the next morning Regis had again been struck dumb by the sight of her. It was enough to make him wish he'd been born an elf.

But Catti-brie brought the elf raiment of a different sort. Two weeks after Iralen had arrived at Regis's home, the young woman presented the elf with a heavy bundle wrapped in thick cloth.

"Might be ye could find a use for this," she said gruffly, leaving before Iralen could reply.

Iralen unwrapped the cloth carefully, finding a small but heavy bag and a lumpy roll of cloth. Her hands trembled as she withdrew a black leather sleeveless shirt and trousers wrapped within a flowing black cloak. Knee-high leather boots completed the outfit. Iralen quickly cast the fine gown aside and pulled on the clothing which fit her like a second skin. The boots were butter-soft and more comfortable than anything she had ever worn.

The small bag called to her and Iralen untied the top eagerly. Inside she found five perfectly balanced throwing knives, each with its own sheath—two designed to fit within the cuffs of her boots, one for her waist, and two that fit snuggly upon each forearm. Iralen strapped them on with fingers that shook and tears in her eyes. How had Catti-brie known just what to bring her?

As though the thought had summoned her, the young woman knocked quietly on the door and entered. Her eyes lit up with approval as she saw Iralen. "Ye seem a bit more comfortable now," she said with a smile.

"How did you know?" Iralen asked, indicating the knives.

"Drizzt," Catti-brie replied simply. She saw the light leave Iralen's eyes as the elf looked away. Catti-brie thought that she had never seen anyone look so sad, unless it had been the drow. Every time Drizzt's name was mentioned the elf responded this way, and Catti-brie had just about had enough of the two of them causing each other so much pain so needlessly.

"He told me of you, Iralen," Catti-brie said abruptly. "About how ye killed the yeti in single combat with only a little dagger, and slew another one by throwing that same dagger. It didn't seem right for ye to be here without a blade, as ye obviously have much skill with it. These were made by Bruenor's people and are enchanted with a returning spell. Throw 'em and they'll be back in their sheaths when ye reach for 'em again."

Iralen stared at Catti-brie as she spoke. The question she longed to ask would not come, however, and although her mouth opened she spoke no word.

Catti-brie nodded as though hearing Iralen's thoughts. "Yes, I have seen him," she said, answering the unspoken question.

"Is he—is he still angry with me?" Iralen whispered.

Catti-brie shook her head. "He never was."

Iralen frowned in confusion. "Then why—"

"As fer that, you'll have to ask him yerself," Catti-brie said, holding up a hand to stop the elf's question. "Why don't you?"

Iralen opened her mouth, then closed it again. She seemed to be taken off-guard by the question. She drew one of the knives and examined it distractedly as her thoughts spun. Then she smiled up at Catti-brie, and the young woman understood then why she had been named Daring.

"Will you show me the way?" Iralen asked, and Catti-brie nodded, returning the smile with all her heart.


	10. Vestamire

The days after Iralen's departure passed in agony for Drizzt. He'd followed the four of them at a distance, reassuring himself that she'd arrived in Lonelywood safely. Then he'd returned to his cave, praying that his life could now return to normal.

But the silent cave was no longer a refuge. When he lay down between the furs to rest, Iralen's scent haunted him. When he did manage to sleep, he dreamed of her kiss and the feel of her in his arms. He could not sit beside the warmth of the fire without remembering every word they had spoken there. By the end of the third day Drizzt knew he had to get out or go mad.

He set out at sunset that night, thinking only of getting far enough away to escape the memories. Many miles later he knew it was impossible. He thought then of her small dagger, now tucked into his belt beside his magical ice-loving scimitar, and the idea came to him of finding a similar magical blade for Iralen. It gave him a destination, a task to concentrate on, and Drizzt seized it.

The hoard of the vanquished dragon Icingdeath was far to the north but Drizzt crossed the distance quickly, walking both by night and by day, stopping only when forced to do so by exhaustion. He slept little, fearing the dreams that came over him when he closed his eyes.

But when he finally reached the icy cave and dropped down into it, his eyes were drawn not to the numerous blades and other weapons in the glittering treasure hoard but to the countless beautiful jewels there. Drizzt moved among the treasure in a daze, imagining the gifts he would shower upon Iralen if she were his. Emeralds of every shape and size called to him, but he could find none to match the splendor of her eyes. Pearls set in magnificent earrings and necklaces were also discarded, for they paled in comparison to the perfection of her flawless skin. As Drizzt turned away from a fortune in jewels, deeming none of them worthy of Iralen, he suddenly found what he sought.

He sank to his knees on the mound of gold and reached out with hands that trembled. Two bands of mithril made to clasp around the upper arms shimmered atop the golden trinkets. Wide as his hand, one was inset with onyx that had been painstakingly etched with intricate engravings of the constellations, encrusted with many white jewels in the place of the stars, creating a hypnotic dance in the faint starlight that found its way through the open roof of the cave. A perfect moonstone rimmed in mithril seemed to float in the starry sky. Its mate, also of precious mithril, depicted a blazing sun of fiery citrine ringed with rubies, brilliant against a background of pale jadeite skillfully cut in the shape of the leaves of the mallorn tree, beloved of the elves. These were unmistakably of Elven-make, and Drizzt knew without a doubt for what purpose they had been created.

They were _vestamire,_ a gift given to a bride, a symbol worn by an elf-woman that she had joined her life with her lover's. The union could not be dissolved, for the two lovers would bind their souls together into one. It was the ultimate expression of love and devotion, and few elves ever found their life-mate and became_ veru'._ Drizzt lifted the _vestamire_ in his hands and closed his eyes. These were truly worthy of Iralen, worthy of a princess who would one day be queen of the Eledhwen. He could see her clearly in his mind's eye, the magnificent bands about her arms, her eyes easily outshining the gems.

Then he opened his eyes and his shoulders slumped. He would not hesitate to give the _vestamire_ to Iralen along with his heart and soul, but there was little chance that she would accept such a gift from him. By accepting the armlets she would indeed be giving herself to him for life, binding herself so tightly to him that any separation would be nearly unbearable. He watched the white gems sparkle in the mithril, the dazzling citrine sun glowing against his black skin. Not even in his dreams could Iralen give him this.

Nonetheless, when he climbed out of Icingdeath's shattered lair the _vestamire_ were in his pack beside a long fighting knife with a large emerald set in its pommel. He knew not if he would ever have the chance to give her either, but he'd known he could not leave without them.

He met Catti-brie outside Lonelywood two nights later but did not speak of the blade or the _vestamire_ in his pack. Catti-brie told him that Iralen was nearly recovered and fared well, praising his care of her during the difficult days after she had been wounded. Drizzt listened to everything with interest, but he didn't ask the question that he most wanted to know.

It was when he had turned to leave that Catti-brie took pity on him. "She misses ye, Drizzt," Catti-brie said to his back, watching him stop in his tracks.

Long moments passed before he was able to reply. "She is not safe with me," he said, his voice hoarse with repressed emotion. "I have failed her twice."

He felt Catti-brie's hand on his shoulder then. "Do ye really think she misses yer blades or yer magic cat?" she asked, an unmistakable note of exasperation in her voice. "Drizzt—"

"Don't," he interrupted, turning and facing her. "There is no future in it."

"There could've been, if ye hadn't given up," she replied quietly. She turned and walked away before Drizzt could think of any reply. He thought of what was hidden in his pack and sighed, feeling unbearably tired. His dreams were just that-dreams. He considered following Catti-brie back to Regis's house but didn't. Perhaps Catti-brie was right and he had given up.

But maybe now he would begin to heal.


	11. Confrontation

When the elf entered the kitchen wearing the black leather at breakfast, Regis's eyes nearly popped from his head. Only Catti-brie's laughter broke the halfling out of his shock, and after than he carefully avoided looking at Iralen. The rest and good food she had received over the two weeks she had stayed with the halfling had healed her wounds and returned the flesh to her body, and the luscious curves outlined by black leather were enough to supply Regis with a month of fantasies.

Drizzt didn't know what he had given up, of that Regis was firmly convinced.

After they had broken their fast together, Iralen and Catti-brie made ready to leave. Regis protested for he had always enjoyed guests and had come to love Iralen, but the women were steadfast in their decision to go and in the end he bowed to the inevitable. He watched them walk out of town after lunch, Iralen's tempting form concealed in a long black cloak, head held high, and Catti-brie walking tall and beautiful by her side. Regis wondered when the little town had seen two such pedestrians, and if it ever would again.

Catti-brie and Iralen passed much of the afternoon in companionable silence, stopping only once for a short rest and making camp an hour after sunset. Iralen had wanted to continue, but Catti-brie had warned her about the dangers of travelling the tundra at night. The young woman had grown to admire the elf's determination, and after Iralen had felled a bounding tundra rabbit with one of the throwing knives she began to see the truth of Drizzt's description of her skill. They skinned and roasted the rabbit for dinner and Catti-brie took the first watch, seeing that Iralen was exhausted but too proud to admit it.

Iralen took her turn at the watch several hours later, then slept a bit more while Catti-brie heated the remains of the rabbit for their breakfast. They were walking again by the time the eastern sky had begun to glow faintly.

Kelvin's Cairn grew slowly before them. They paused several times that day at Catti-brie's insistence, but Iralen chafed at the delay despite the protests of her muscles. She didn't know what kind of reception she would receive once they reached Drizzt's home, but her anxiety seemed unimportant when compared to the anticipation of seeing the drow again. His kiss lived vividly in her memory and her lips tingled with remembrance.

They reached the rocky foot of the mountain at sunset, and Catti-brie stopped once more. "You cannot mean to rest again!" Iralen protested, looking at the woman in disbelief.

But Catti-brie smiled. "I mean to rest here," she said. "I d'not ask ye to stay with me."

Iralen understood at once and looked on her friend with gratitude, pulling the cloak about her against a sudden shiver that had little to do with the chill wind. Catti-brie pointed silently to the faint trail up the rocky slope, and with a deep breath to steady her nerves Iralen began to ascend to the little cave.

Her soft boots and careful footfalls made no sound on the rocky ground. Only the loose gravel at the mouth of the cave gave her away, grating softly beneath her feet.

At once she heard the faint hiss of metal on metal from within and knew Drizzt had drawn his scimitars. "Who's there?" he challenged from the shadows, and Iralen knew that with the sunset bright behind her and the hood of her cloak pulled low over her head he had not recognized her. Her eyes strained at the shadows in a vain attempt to see him.

"Speak!" came his voice again, and there was now a cold edge to his words. "Speak now, or I will strike."

Iralen raised her hands and pushed aside the hood. She didn't know what to say, but suddenly the words came from her lips, no longer a challenge but almost a caress of sound. _"Amin umma gorga vys, Drizzt Do'Urden."_


	12. Melamin

She heard his swift intake of breath an instant before the fire flamed to life and he stepped from the shadows, his scimitars still drawn, an unreadable expression on his face. Then their eyes met and Iralen's heart began to beat again, pounding against her ribs with such force it seemed he must hear it. For an endless moment they stared at each other, both frozen in place, their eyes locked together. Then Iralen somehow found the strength to move and took a single step forward.

She stopped when Drizzt stepped back, dropping his swords with a clatter on the stone floor. "Why have you come back?" he whispered, likewise speaking in Elven.

"Don't you know?" Iralen replied, again forcing her feet forward, slowly closing the distance between them.

Drizzt couldn't seem to find enough air to breathe. This was not the weak and injured elf who had been carried away two weeks ago. This was the princess of the Eledhwen, strong and vibrant and at the height of her legendary beauty, and if Drizzt had had trouble resisting her in her weakened state he had no idea how he would resist the lovely creature who now stood before him. She moved with a slight limp but still with a grace and self-assurance that robbed him of breath. Her hair was loose about her shoulders and fell in dark waves over the swells of her breasts, the tendrils caressing them as his hands longed to do. Her fair skin glowed with perfection in the flickering firelight. Her ruby lips were slightly parted, bringing the vivid memory of their taste swirling through Drizzt like molten heat.

And her eyes! No words could describe the allure in those green depths, the sheer power her merest glance wielded over him. When she met his gaze it was all Drizzt could do not to fall to his knees before her. Deep within him his soul cried out for her, knowing that in this magnificent creature he had found all he could have ever desired.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that Iralen would return. She stopped beside his swords and bent to retrieve them from the floor as his eyes devoured her. His mouth went dry as she straightened with his scimitars held in her slender hands. Drizzt glanced at the weapons as though he had never seen them before. She took another step forward and he found his back to the stone wall, unable to retreat further. He tried to close his eyes to close out the temptation, but he had dreamed of her too often over the last weeks, wanted her too badly, and he could not bring himself to look away.

She held the scimitars out to him then, hilt-first, narrowing the gap that kept her safely out of reach. Drizzt was drawn to her like a moth to a flame but his sense of self-preservation was strong and he did not reach out to take his weapons from her. He knew that the merest brush of her fingers against his would send him over the edge, and he could never live with himself if he forced himself on her. "I cannot protect you, Iralen," he said in a last, desperate attempt to save her from himself. "You were safer in Lonelywood."

"At last you call me by my name," she sighed with a smile that trembled on her lips. His hands clenched at his sides as those lips called to him, seeming to beg for the kisses he longed to shower on her. "Drizzt, I no longer need a protector," Iralen murmured softly, and that low murmur sent a wave of pure heat down his spine. "Catti-brie has provided me with all the protection I need." And she shrugged the cloak from her shoulders, exposing the magic knives in their sheathes to his view as the black cloth fell softly at her feet.

But Drizzt cared nothing for the knives. The sight of her sent the breath slamming out of his lungs. The black leather skimmed the curves of her hips and thighs, pulling taut over her full breasts. Every breath she took, every movement of her body was an enticement. Her slender, finely muscled arms and delicate throat were bared to his hungry gaze. A narrow band of creamy skin was just visible at her waist and he longed to taste that tempting flesh and find out if it was as delicious as it appeared. For one moment more he looked at her, his eyes devouring every soft curve of her body.

Drizzt knew then that the battle was lost and had been lost before it had even begun. He reached out and plucked the scimitars from her hands, casting them again to the ground before his hands found the gentle curves of her hips. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me, _melamin_?" he growled, unable to stop the pads of his thumbs from caressing the soft skin exposed between the hems of her shirt and pants.

Her eyes widened and Drizzt closed his in horror. He could have cheerfully bitten out his tongue. _Melamin_, he'd called her. _My love._ It was a slip that could not have gone unnoticed, and with that one endearment he had inadvertently revealed his heart. He turned his face away and released her, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes.

But her hands caught his wrists before he could push her away and his eyes opened in surprise. Drizzt looked at her then and truly saw her reaction, and to his utter astonishment it was not one of pity or disgust. Those tempting lips were smiling, her eyes sparkling like sunlight on water. It was a look of pure wonder, he realized, and his fingers tightened unconsciously as his heart began to beat again. He had the sudden insane urge to murmur a thousand endearments in her ear if it would keep that expression on her face.

Then Iralen stepped even closer into his embrace and a shiver ran through his entire body. "What am I doing to you, Drizzt?" she murmured, sliding her hands slowly up his arms as she paused so close to him that a deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest.

His lavender eyes flashed with desire. "You play a dangerous game, Iralen," he warned softly even as his fingertips again traced a gentle pattern on the soft skin of her waist. His head spun, drunk with the sheer pleasure of her smooth skin heating at his touch.

But she shook her head, her eyes never leaving his own as she leaned still closer. "I have already told you," she whispered, her breath an erotic torment on his lips, "that I do not play with you."

And Drizzt looked into her eyes and saw his own desire mirrored there and knew that she came to him for this, wanting him as much as he wanted her. Her palms moved over his shoulders to the sides of his neck as her lips parted in an invitation too sensual to resist, and Drizzt surrendered to the madness.

His arms came around her as his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that tasted of desperation and passion too long denied. Iralen melted against him, her fingers tangling in his hair and meeting his kiss with equal ardor. Again and again Drizzt kissed her, feasting on her intoxicating mouth, but as addictive as her luscious lips were it wasn't nearly enough. He hungered to taste every inch of her.

When his mouth left hers to trace a line of fiery kisses down her throat Iralen moaned with pleasure. The sound drove his passion to new heights. His lips traveled hungrily to her ear and she shuddered from head to toe as his tongue explored the exquisitely sensitive skin, and he felt that shudder keenly as her body was pressed so tightly to his own. She arched against him, those erotic little gasps and whimpers of pleasure clouding his senses and sharpening his own desire until he thought he would burst into flame. He kissed her again, unable to get enough of her, reveling in the taste that had haunted him for so many long days and endless nights. His hand moved of its own accord, somehow slipping between their bodies to find the full curve of her breast. When she cried out his name at the sheer pleasure of his caress he knew he had gone too far and his control shattered.

"Stop me, Iralen," Drizzt groaned even as his hands and mouth traced fiery paths across her soft skin. Her fingers in his hair held him captive, her willing prisoner. Her legs parted at the slightest pressure from his knee and his thigh slipped between hers, the heat of her center burning his thigh through the leather in the sweetest agony he had ever known. "You must stop me," he begged hoarsely even as his free hand flattened against her waist, pulling her hips tightly to his so that she could not miss the hard evidence of his mounting desire, and she moaned his name again. "Gods help me, I cannot!"

In reply Iralen pressed herself yet more tightly against him, finding his mouth with hers and kissing him will all the passion in her heart. "I did not come here to stop you," she whispered fiercely, then gasped as Drizzt suddenly lifted her in his arms, stepping over the forgotten swords and carrying her to the deepest shadows at the back of the cave. He sank to his knees on the furs hidden there, easing her down onto their softness as though she were made of fragile porcelain and might shatter.

But when Iralen wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tried to draw him down beside her, he braced his hands on either side of her head and resisted. Iralen's eyes caught his and Drizzt felt his will melting away in that molten green gaze as for the first time she purposefully used the full power of her enchanting eyes on him, but he smiled and shook his head.

"Not yet, _melamin_,_" _he murmured, using the Elven endearment purposefully this time to bring the sparkle to her eyes again. When it did he took a great shuddering breath, stricken both by her beauty and the knowledge that this exquisite creature truly desired him. He brushed his lips ever so gently across hers, pulling back when she attempted to draw him into a more passionate kiss. "Not yet," he whispered again. "Nothing in the world could entice me to rush this night."

Then he rose to his feet and, ignoring Iralen's little cry of protest, turned and walked to the little alcove beside the fire. The flames roared high as he passed. His pack lay there and the things he'd taken from Icingdeath's cave were still within it. He hesitated for a long moment beside the fire, his battered pack clenched tightly in his hands, his back to Iralen. A veteran of many battles was Drizzt Do'Urden, but the thought of offering these gifts to the beautiful elf waiting on his sleeping furs filled his heart with a terror so profound it was almost more than he could bear. Yet the desire to bind her to him forever rose strongly within him too. Despite the pounding of his heart and the heat that swept through his body, Drizzt did not want to make love to her merely to satisfy their desires. He wanted to make them one forever.

"Drizzt?" Iralen said uncertainly, sitting up on the furs and jolting him from his thoughts.

He turned at the sound of her voice. Then he walked slowly back to the shadows where she waited, every step costing him an obvious effort. Iralen gazed worriedly up at him. "Is everything all right?" she asked gently, her hand touching his knee as he knelt beside her again.

But before she could turn the simple touch into a caress Drizzt caught her hands. "The only thing that is wrong," he murmured with a smile that made her catch her breath, "is that you are overdressed." Placing the pack he'd taken from the alcove aside, he began to unfasten the knife sheathes from her forearms, but he could not resist the compulsion to taste her again. He raised her hand to his lips and his mouth moved from her fingertips to her palm, lingering over the bounding pulse at her wrist as he unclasped the buckles. Iralen bit her lip against the whimper that wanted to escape as she imagined that skillful mouth devoting the same thorough attention to every part of her body. Throughout the entire erotic exercise his eyes never left hers, reading her desire in her bright eyes and flushed cheeks and parted lips. He bit the fleshy pad of her thumb and she moaned, and only with a supreme effort did he stop himself from falling onto the furs beside her.

Her eyes glowed with desire and Drizzt couldn't help but give in to the unspoken command to prolong his teasing torment. He moved to her feet, his hands skimming down her thighs and calves before pulling off her boots, bending to nip her ankle as his expert hands caressed her calves with feather-soft touches that reduced her to putty in his hands. She hardly noticed when he unfastened the two sheathes at her ankles and set them aside.

The final sheath at her waist Drizzt unbuckled with his teeth, and tossing it aside he found the thin seam between her shirt and leather leggings and ran his tongue over the quivering skin exposed there. Her skin tasted of ambrosia and her fingers again tangled in his hair as she moaned and whimpered with pleasure. His teeth nipped gently at the curve of her hip and she bucked beneath him, gasping. His searching mouth discovered the tie at the waist of her leggings and tugged it loose with his teeth. The leather gaped open in a deep V and his tongue explored it to its limits as he slowly slid one hand over her thigh to cup the place he desired most. His fingers stroked her through the leather as his mouth and tongue performed their sensual dance over her skin, and the quickening of her breathing and the unrestrained sounds of ecstasy from Iralen's lips were the most potent rewards Drizzt had ever known.

Iralen was nearly mindless when his mouth found hers again and she clung to him with abandon as he kissed her with a passion that made their previous kisses seem positively tame. When Drizzt broke away Iralen pulled him back with a strength he couldn't resist, her mouth as hungry as his own. "Don't stop," she urged him breathlessly when she finally released him, and he knew he could not have disobeyed her if it cost him his very soul.

And every particle of his being cried out that the moment had come.


	13. One

**Thanks to everyone for the reviews! I'm so glad you're still enjoying it, and sorry that it's taking me so long to post. I'll post two chapters now to make it up to you, how 'bout that? Mwah!**

**PS, I still don't own Drizzt, and that is a tragedy.**

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Drizzt looked into her breathtaking eyes and gathered his courage and all his strength. He reached into the pack lying all but forgotten beside the furs and withdrew the armbands he had taken from the dragon's hoard. "Iralen," he said hoarsely, holding her gaze with his own, "Will you accept this gift, _melamin_?" And he pressed the _vestamire_ into her hands and held his breath as she looked down at what he had given her, his chest so tight it was physically painful.

Iralen's eyes widened when she saw the magnificent _vestamire _and understood at once what he offered her. The white gems shone against the onyx in their mithril settings, lighting her face with a soft glow. Then she turned the second band in her hand and the citrine caught the glow from the fire's embers, illuminating her eyes with a sparkle like sunshine on a rain-washed spring leaf. Each band alone was worth a king's ransom, but Iralen knew that their monetary value mattered little. Mithril or tin, these were _vestamire_ and they were the most precious gifts any elf could give or receive, for they were only the outward expression of the ultimate gift.

The union of souls.

It was unthinkable for a princess to bind herself without the king's blessing, unthinkable for any elf to bind herself to a drow. But just once, Iralen wanted to stop thinking like a princess. Just once, she wanted to reach out for what _she_ needed and damn the consequences. Dare she take this leap?

The words flowed from Drizzt's lips before he knew he intended to speak them. "I give you my life, my love and my soul," he whispered the ancient vows. "For me the world is empty but for you, beloved. Take this gift as a symbol of my love for you, Iralen Eledhwen, and take all that I am to be yours for all time."

Each second seemed an eternity of tortured uncertainty to the drow, watching the play of emotions in those verdant eyes and praying with every fiber of his being that this gift would be accepted. In that moment his soul was on offer and he truly felt it, felt naked and vulnerable and terrified in a way he had never before experienced and never, ever wanted to feel again.

Then Iralen looked up. He saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes just before she kissed him with trembling lips and pressed the armbands back into his hands. The flames of his desire turned to ashes. His heart plummeted even as he told himself that he had been a fool to believe that she would ever accept this from him. Many elves never bonded for life, and the thought of a princess willingly binding herself to him, an outcast even among the dark elves, suddenly seemed naïve and absurd.

But when Iralen broke away, she was smiling. "Take my life in return, my love, my champion," she murmured, and the shock of hearing the ritual reply from her lips riveted the drow to the spot. "I give you all that I am and all I shall be. I will wear your _vestamire_ for the rest of my days, a sign to the world that we are one soul." She stopped, unable to speak the next words of her vows, looking down at her empty hands. "I should have bracers to give you," she whispered regretfully, and Drizzt's heart skipped a beat.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he managed, still staring at her in wide-eyed shock. He had been accepted! Even as he felt the warmth growing within him, the joining of their souls, he could hardly comprehend it.

"Will you put them on?" Iralen asked, touching one of the jadeite leaves admiringly and bringing Drizzt from his shock.

"Are you certain of this, Iralen?" Drizzt heard himself ask even as he reverently lifted one of the mithril bands in his trembling hands.

Iralen laughed, a sound of pure joy. She pressed a hand to his chest. "Feel it here," she said, a tear tracing a path down her cheek, and he indeed knew her answer before she spoke it. "Drizzt, I love you and I gladly bind my life to yours."

His hands shook as he slid first one, then the other band into place. There they fit perfectly, shining softly as though they had always been there. Drizzt kissed her deeply, still clutching the mithril bands, wondering if this was a dream.

Then Iralen's hands found the laces at the neck of his shirt and slipped inside to caress his skin, bringing the fires of his passion flaring back to life. "Will you finish what you started, husband?" she murmured silkily, pressing herself against him even as her teeth found his earlobe and nibbled.

Drizzt guided her back onto the furs with a groan. "With pleasure, wife," he said before claiming her mouth in a passionate kiss.

They made love slowly, undressing each other with kisses and caresses. When Drizzt slipped Iralen's leather shirt over her head, he worshiped her breasts with his mouth and tongue and skillful fingers until she whimpered and cried out his name. Only then did he slide his hands down to her trousers, slipping them down her thighs as he kissed every inch of skin he exposed. He saw the long scar on her thigh and ran his tongue along it, making her shudder. At last he allowed himself to taste her essence, and at the first touch of his lips Iralen arched on the furs and cried out. He brought her to climax again and again, feeling her ecstasy echoing within his own heart and mind. Only when she begged and pulled at him with her fingers in his hair did he release her from his sensual torment, kissing his way up her body before finally meeting in a soul-shattering kiss.

She wrapped her slender thighs around his waist, her arms tight around his neck. "Please," she whispered, and Drizzt knew he could wait no longer. He took her mouth again in a deep kiss, their tongues dueling and dancing even as he slipped deeply into her body, consummating their union and binding their souls inextricably into one. The brief pain that proclaimed her a virgin they felt together, and Drizzt could hardly believe the precious gifts this beautiful Elven princess had given an outcast Drow ranger this night.

All he could give her in return was his very soul, and all the pleasure she could stand. Iralen's eyes closed on a moan as she wrapped her legs around him, soon learning the rhythm he set. Soon he felt her body tighten around him, her nails digging into his back as she moaned his name in yet another ecstatic release, and it was all he could do to not to give in to the sheer pleasure of the velvet heat and softness surrounding him. Drizzt wanted it to last forever, but when she cried out in ecstasy beneath him for the third time, biting his shoulder in her abandon, he could no longer resist the demands of his body and toppled over the edge of passion with her.

Long minutes passed while their breathing slowly returned to normal. Drizzt kissed her again and again, knowing he would never tire of the honeyed taste of her and unable to believe the miracle that made her his. At last she sighed against his mouth and he pulled the furs over them, tucking her into his arms, entwining his body around hers even as he had done unknowingly so many days ago after the attack of the yetis. Long after Iralen slept in his arms, her breathing deep and peaceful, Drizzt stayed awake simply reveling in the sensation of holding her. The mithril _vestamire _were warm against his skin, her hair soft as silk on his shoulder. Only when the light of the moon outside was waning did Drizzt sleep, at peace at last.

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**Drizzt Do'urden, good in bed? Oh yes. Oh, very yes. You don't master swordplay and martial arts and all forms of grace without that kind of talent carrying over into other areas, my darlings!**


	14. Visitors

They slept far into the day. Iralen awakened Drizzt with kisses that grew steadily more intimate until she found that part of him that burned for her and laved him with her soft tongue and hot mouth until he thought he would explode. At the last possible moment he raised her from her position, worshiping her with his mouth and hands until she was just as mindless with pleasure as he before he again found the heavenly refuge of her body. Only then did he allow himself to loose his iron control and join her in her release.

Night was again falling when they finally rose from the bed of furs and dressed. Drizzt felt a pang of loss as Iralen again concealed her beautiful body, but his eyes blazed when he remembered that she would lie with him again when the dawn came and would share his bed for the rest of their lives. As if sensing his eyes on her Iralen glanced over her shoulder and gave him a sultry smile.

Drizzt pulled her into his arms for a long, slow kiss. "Look at me like that again," he murmured against her lips, "and we'll end up right back where we started."

Iralen laughed softly and slid her arms around him, her hands caressing his bare back and pulling him back for another kiss. But before their lips touched there came a loud "ahem!" from the opening of the cave and they spun around to see Catti-brie standing there, beaming at both of them.

Catti-brie had only been standing there for a few moments, arriving to see Drizzt and Iralen engaged in a passionate kiss, Drizzt wearing only his trousers and boots and Iralen barefoot with her hair disheveled. The human woman didn't understand the Elven words she'd heard, but the low silky tone of Drizzt's voice and Iralen's intimate laugh combined with their rather questionable states of dress explained all she needed to know. Catti-brie whooped aloud at her victory.

Drizzt laughed out loud but didn't release Iralen from his arms. "Come to say 'I told you so'?" he asked, switching back to the common tongue.

Catti-brie shook her head, still grinning from ear to ear. "Just wanted t' see if ye'd made up, or she'd cut ye to ribbons," she said, striding over to them.

Iralen smiled at the young woman that had become one of her dearest friends and rested her head against Drizzt's hard chest. "Thank you, Cat," she said simply.

Catti-brie shrugged away her gratitude. "Seein' yer happy is all the thanks I need," she said. Then she saw the mithril bands around Iralen's upper arms and her eyes widened. "Sure'n that's some fine workmanship!" she exclaimed, reaching out to touch one of the bands.

Iralen blushed and smiled up at the drow as Drizzt's chin rose with pride. "They're called _vestamire,_ Cat," he said, and the tone of his voice made Catti-brie look up curiously.

"I suppose you'd call them Elven wedding bands," Iralen explained, and Catti-brie gaped at the two of them.

"Wedding bands!" she gasped. Then she threw her arms around both of them in a crushing hug. "Sure'n that's the more'n I ever hoped for! Is there a ceremony?"

Drizzt laughed, but Iralen answered, "We've already, um, had it." Her cheeks were bright red.

Catti-brie joined in Drizzt's laughter. It had been too long since she'd heard her friend laugh. Then Drizzt kissed Iralen on the forehead and released her to pull on his shirt.

"Well, three's a crowd, as they say," Catti-brie said, wrapping her cloak back around her. "I'll be fer leavin' the two of you alone for a bit."

"You're not going back to the mines alone in the dark," Drizzt said firmly.

"We'll go with you," Iralen agreed, picking up her throwing knives and strapping them on her arms.

Catti-brie wasn't given a choice in the matter. As Drizzt pulled his boots on she saw his scimitars lying forgotten on the ground and picked them up. "Never saw yer so careless wi' yer blades before, Drizzt," she scolded teasingly, handing them to the drow.

Drizzt shrugged as he took them from her and slid them into their sheathes. "I was a bit distracted," he said simply, his eyes devouring Iralen as she bent to slide a knife into each boot, her tight leather pants leaving little to the imagination. Catti-brie's heart swelled with happiness for the two of them. She'd carefully planned her matchmaking and Iralen's outfit had been no accident, and from the gleam in Drizzt's eye the black leather had certainly met with his approval.

Iralen turned around, fastening her cloak about her throat. "Ready," she said, moving toward the mouth of the cave even as she twisted her long hair into a knot and held it with the scrimshaw comb.

"Not yet," Drizzt said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. He returned to the alcove that had held the _vestamire_ and withdrew another wrapped bundle. Iralen gasped when she opened the cloth and lifted the gleaming knife from Drizzt's hands.

"It's beautiful!" she whispered, grasping the fine handle and slicing it through the air. It fit her hand as though it were made for her, and the emerald gleamed with its own light as she held it. "Where did you get it?"

"From a dragon's hoard," he replied, as though it were nothing more dangerous than going to the local swordsmith. Iralen stared at him. "It's a long story," Drizzt said with a shrug. "I'll tell you about it on the road."

Together the three of them left the little cave, Drizzt holding Iralen's hand without any indication of embarrassment. Watching the two of them made Catti-brie miss her husband acutely, and she quickened her pace to reach Wulfgar. Soon they had reached the foot of the mountain and Catti-brie's little campsite.

Drizzt saw the devastation before either of the women and stopped them with a raised hand, his lavender eyes penetrating the shadows with ease. "Wait here," he said softly, drawing his scimitars and moving down the path.

But Iralen followed right behind him, a knife held ready in each hand. Drizzt started to motion her back when he saw the glint in her eyes and felt her gentle reproach from within his own heart. "You will not walk into danger alone," Iralen said firmly. "We are _veru'_ now, Drizzt Do'Urden."

He nodded, his heart swelling with love and pride. "But stay behind me," he admonished her. "Your eyes are sharp, but mine are better."

He turned back to the demolished campsite, his eyes searching out every detail. Catti-brie's bedroll had been slashed and torn, the contents of her pack scattered and trampled. Catti-brie's eyes narrowed in fury as she glimpsed the destruction. "This was no wild animal," she hissed.

"Orcs," Drizzt agreed, his eyes lighting with the fire of approaching battle.

"If I'd've been here," Catti-brie began, but then Iralen's hand flashed out in a movement as quick as sight. They heard the wet thud as her blade found its mark, then a horrible gurgling as the Orc she'd felled struggled to draw its last breath.

A harsh cry rose from the place where the Orc had fallen and they all heard the sudden stampede of many feet. Iralen launched another knife even as Catti-brie drew her bow and let arrow after arrow fly. "Sure'n there must be five of them to each of us!" she cried as she and the elf continued to fell the approaching Orcs.

Then the Orcs broke over them and Catti-brie drew her sword, plunging into battle with one of Bruenor's battle cries on her lips. Iralen drew the long knife in her right hand and one of the magical blades in the other and met her attackers head-on, ducking inside the leader's guard with a graceful swirl that ended with Orc's head dangling from its half-severed neck. Drizzt's scimitars were a whirl of death as he cut through the foul creatures.

He dispatched two Orcs before they even had a chance to swing their swords at him. The next Orc attempted to attack but its blade met only empty air as Drizzt danced out of its way, his swords stabbing and slashing every opening the Orc presented him until it fell dying in its own blood at his feet.

Drizzt turned and saw Catti-brie easily holding her own. Iralen stood atop the body of the Orc-captain she had slain, cutting down any that dared to come near her. As he watched Drizzt saw her engage a large Orc, leaping off the body of their leader and kicking it in its hideous face before dancing around its sword. She blocked its next swing with one blade while slashing the Orc's exposed belly with the long knife. The Orc bent over, clutching his belly to prevent his entrails from slipping through the gaping wound. Iralen didn't hesitate but finished the Orc with a stab at the base of its skull. She spun to take on the next adversary and found Drizzt at her back instead, his blades slick with Orc-blood and his lavender eyes alight with battle-lust.

Catti-brie's sword sang in the night as she drove one of the few remaining Orcs before her, desperately parrying her furious attacks. One of the Orcs lying on the ground sat up as she passed, reaching out a hand, but before it could move more than a few inches, it fell flat with a knife protruding from its throat and another piercing its black heart. Iralen felt the magical blades return to their sheaths even as the head of the last Orc fell at Catti-brie's feet.

"What were they looking for?" Iralen asked, wiping the blade of the long knife on one of the fallen Orcs, for it was obvious that the foul creatures had been searching for something in the campsite.

"Sure'n I don't know," Catti-brie replied, going back to her camp and picking through the wreckage. "Me weapons are th' only things o' value I carry, an' even a stupid Orc must know I'd be takin' those with me."

Drizzt glanced uncomfortably at Iralen. She read his concern in his eyes and frowned. "They couldn't have been looking for me," she said in Elven, correctly reading his thought. "My father would never use Orcs to track me down."

Catti-brie looked curiously at the pair. Iralen looked from the woman to the dead Orcs around them and back again. "They can't have been looking for me," she repeated more forcefully, but Drizzt heard the slightest note of fear in her voice and went to her side.

He took her chin in his hand and lifted her eyes to his. "I promised you once that I would let no one take you against your will," he said softly. "It is a promise I will keep, Iralen. I will not let anyone take you from me." She nodded and laced her fingers through his, taking comfort and strength from his words.

"We should no' linger," Catti-brie reminded them, wondering what they'd said in the language she didn't understand, but Drizzt merely nodded and didn't explain.

"You're right, Cat," he said. "Whatever they were looking for, it's certain they'll think Cat still has it." He looked around at the numerous bodies around them. "And if they return it may well be with more strength. We need to reach the safety of Bruenor's people tonight."


	15. Dark

They set a fast pace after that, running for long stretches at a time. Drizzt watched Iralen carefully, ready to call a halt if she appeared to be tiring, but she matched the pace without any sign of over-exerting herself. They met no more trouble that night, but all were glad to reach the dark entrance to the mines.

But Iralen hesitated at the entrance, looking up at the mountain above her with misgivings. Drizzt took her hand. "You'll be perfectly safe," he murmured in her ear, understanding her hesitation. "It's no more dangerous than my cave, love. The dwarves are master miners. Dwarven tunnels do not collapse."

The elf nodded and swallowed hard, clutching the drow's hand tightly. "I've never been underground before," she admitted, taking a halting step forward.

To the drow, the world beneath the surface was as familiar and comfortable as the back of his hand. He had never even seen the surface until he had passed the first four decades of his life. But he remembered the terror he'd felt when he'd first stepped out of the subterranean world of his birth and seen nothing above his head but unending blackness and bright stars, and knew that Iralen must be feeling that same kind of fear.

"I will be with you," he said simply, putting an arm around her waist and dropping a gentle kiss on her hair. Iralen closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and entered the mines.

Catti-brie led them through the twisting tunnels, and gradually Iralen grew accustomed to the narrow ways and dim light and relaxed a little. Drizzt laced his fingers through hers, squeezing her hand reassuringly when he felt her tremble. At last they reached the Great Hall and Iralen halted, stunned.

The ceiling soared overhead, giving the place a feeling of openness and space that relieved Iralen's claustrophobia. Torches hung from the thick pillars supporting the unseen ceiling and filled the Hall with warmth and light. Tables and stone benches lined the walls, now empty but waiting to be laden with food and the noise and laughter of the dwarves when mealtime came. Iralen looked around, her lips parted in silent astonishment at the beautiful shields, swords, and life-like statues that adorned the walls. "It's amazing!" she breathed.

"Aw, this is nothin'," came a gruff voice from behind her, making the elf jump and clutch Drizzt for support. "Ye should see the wonders of Mithril Hall, lady, if ye be wantin' to see true masterpieces of the Dwarven craft."

Catti-brie ran to hug Bruenor. Though the dwarf seemed to merely endure her embrace, Iralen saw him give a quick squeeze in return. The dwarf had rescued Catti-brie as a baby from the ruins of a goblin-raid on her village and had been a father to her since, and she had wrapped the stern dwarf around her little finger from the cradle.

"Good t' have ye back," Bruenor said, breaking away from the young woman. "'Tis too long ye've been away, Cat."

Wulfgar came running into the hall then, straightening to his full seven-foot height with obvious relief as he entered the high-ceilinged room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever come home, Catti-brie!" the barbarian said, sweeping her into his arms for a kiss. "I've missed you, wife. What kept you so long?"

She smiled mischievously and glanced at Drizzt and Iralen. "Sure'n I've had my hands full with these two," she said.

For the first time Bruenor and Wulfgar truly noticed Drizzt and Iralen, and both gaped in shock to see his arm around her and her hand wrapped securely in his. Drizzt smiled at his friends and gently brushed aside Iralen's cloak to expose the _vestamire _that gleamed in the flickering torchlight.

Wulfgar looked puzzled but Bruenor recognized the significance of the armbands at once. His mouth opened but no sound came out, his eyes popping. Wulfgar looked anxiously at the dwarf, then at his wife when no explanation was forthcoming. At last Drizzt took pity on the barbarian and explained simply, "Iralen is my wife now, Wulfgar."

Iralen was suddenly pulled into a crushing hug, first from Bruenor and then from Wulfgar, who lifted her completely off the ground. "Congratulations!" Bruenor shouted joyously. "Sure'n this calls fer a feast! I'll send someone to fetch Rumblebelly and we'll have a real celebration fer ye!"

Iralen blushed and smiled her thanks while Drizzt put his arms around her again, feeling that she had just become part of a close and caring family. Indeed Bruenor seemed to feel that this marriage made her just as much a daughter to him as Catti-brie, and she couldn't help but love the gruff dwarf as she came to know the soft heart he tried but failed to hide.

Bruenor led them through another series of tunnels an hour later to the room they would share while they stayed here. Bruenor dropped Drizzt a wink as he shut the door behind him, the lone candle still in his hand, wrapping them in darkness.

Iralen reached out for Drizzt in the darkness but her hands met only emptiness. "Drizzt?" she whispered, turning blindly around, her hands outstretched.

A hand slid around her waist and she was pulled back against a hard chest. "I am here, _melamin_," he murmured as his lips closed over her earlobe. Iralen closed her eyes as sensation flowed through her, but when she reached to clasp his hand Drizzt slipped away.

She turned, her hands passing through the place where he had just been without resistance. "Where are you?"

His deep laugh was her only reply, sensual in the utter blackness of the room. Iralen spun to follow the sound, reaching out again.

This time warm hands closed over her wrists and her mouth was captured in a long, hot kiss. She moaned when he released her, but now she knew the game and did not grope blindly in the dark for him. She bit her lip and whispered, "Come back here, you rogue!"

A hand caressed her breast and was gone. She tried to catch him but missed again, his warm laughter surrounding her. Again he kissed her, pinning her wrists to his chest with a hand as his other traced a sensual path down her throat to the laces of her leather shirt. When he moved away again, Iralen took a deep breath and realized her shirt now hung open to her navel, the edges of the leather just covering her breasts.

She turned, unable to keep a smile from curving her lips as an idea came into her mind. "I know you can see me," she murmured, her movements slower, more seductive. She reached up and pulled the comb from her hair, letting it fall about her shoulders with a toss of her head. She ran her fingers through the dark tresses, arranging it over her shoulders until her hair covered the skin Drizzt had exposed.

Warm breath sounded in her ear before Drizzt gathered her hair in his hands, again baring her bosom before slipping into the shadows again.

It was Iralen's turn to laugh softly. "I thought you liked my hair, husband," she said teasingly, spinning so that it flew in an arc about her. She dropped her shoulders and the shirt slipped, sliding down her arms to her wrists, and again let her hair fall over her breasts.

Before she could drop the shirt his hands closed over hers, pinning them behind her. An instant later Iralen gasped as his warm mouth found her breasts, trailing kisses over the generous globes until she whimpered. His teeth closed around her nipple, worrying it gently, and she cried out with pleasure before he again released her and faded into the shadows.

Iralen's breath came fast and it was all she could do to keep from begging him to come back to her. She could hear his soft breathing in the darkness, and it was as uneven as her own. She brought the toe of one boot to the heel of the other, kicking first one and then the other free. Then, acting on instinct alone, she began to move slowly to a music only she could hear.

Her hands skimmed over her body, her eyes closing and her tongue moistening her lips as her body swayed, her hips moving erotically. She grasped the leather thong that held the leather pants closed and pulled it slowly, arching her back.

The hiss of Drizzt's breathing became harsher and she smiled, turning toward the sound, running a fingertip under the loose waistband, reaching out a slender arm to the darkness before her. Then she spun away, her back to the place where she was sure he watched, slipping the pants down over her gently swaying hips, dipping her head back so that her hair caressed the skin she so slowly revealed.

Iralen didn't hear him move, but suddenly his hands replaced hers on the edge of her leggings, sliding them down her thighs and over her calves. She stepped out of them and moved away from his caressing hands, turning to keep her back to him, her hair swirling as she danced, knowing that Drizzt's lavender eyes followed her every move.

Suddenly he was there, his arms capturing her against his bare chest and claiming her mouth in a hot, deep kiss that left her gasping. Iralen sighed as her arms closed around his neck, holding him at last. He lifted her and carried her to the bed, falling with her onto the soft blankets, the night just beginning.


	16. Searchers

Regis was already in the Great Hall when Drizzt and Iralen entered for breakfast the next morning. The drow raised an eyebrow when he saw the halfling sitting beside Bruenor. "That's a fast trip, Regis," he said, smiling warmly at his small friend. "I didn't think those little legs of yours could run so far in a night!"

But Regis did not return his smile, his normally jovial face unusually grave. Drizzt knew instantly that the halfling had not come merely to attend a feast. "What is it?" the drow asked, leading Iralen to the table.

Regis bowed to the lovely elf but this time he uttered no courteous words to her. "There is a troop of elves in Lonelywood," he said without preamble.

Iralen went rigid. "They look for me," she said, and it wasn't a question. Drizzt's eyes flashed and he put a possessive arm around her waist.

It was Bruenor who replied. "If indeed that's true, they'll no' find ye here," he said stoutly. "They would no' dare set foot inside me halls."

But Iralen wasn't comforted. "I haven't told you all, Bruenor," she said, her voice low and worried. "They may indeed dare to come here."

"What d'ye mean?" the dwarf demanded, his brows drawing together at the thought of elves invading his home.

Iralen took a deep breath. "Iralen is not my given name," she said, too quietly for any but Bruenor, Regis, and Drizzt to hear. "It is merely a nickname, given by my family. I am Veryien Eledhwen." Regis gasped, and even Bruenor paled. Word of the missing princess had spread even to Icewind Dale, and even if it hadn't the name of Eledhwen would be recognized anywhere.

Drizzt broke the strained silence. "Whatever her name, we are soul-bound now," he said firmly. "Let them come. They will not separate us."

Regis's jaw dropped and he sank onto a chair, reeling from one shock too many. At last he recovered himself enough to notice the _vestamire_ on Iralen's arms. Few of the elves of Icewind Dale wore such riches openly, but Regis knew well what they signified. Never had he seen _vestamire _of this caliber, and he had seen—and stolen—many in his life.

Drizzt saw the little thief's eyes light up as he gazed at the fortune in mithril, onyx, jadeite and gems on Iralen's arms and frowned fiercely. "Don't even think about it," he growled.

Regis shook his head quickly. "No, no, I would never even consider it," he said hastily, and they all laughed at his obvious discomfort.

Bruenor slapped Regis on the back, almost sending the little halfling face-first into the table. "Forget yer greed a moment, Rumblebelly," he said, "an' tell us everything ye know about the elven party in yer town. How'd they figure out where her Highness went?"

"Don't," Iralen said swiftly, catching the dwarf's eyes. "I am no longer that elf."

Bruenor nodded. "Iralen Do'Urden suits ye much better than Veryien Eledhwen," he said with approval.

Regis still seemed unnerved by the revelation of Iralen's past, but he shook his head and answered Bruenor as best he could. "You were seen leaving with Catti-brie," he said. "When the elves arrived in town, searching for a dark-haired elf with green eyes, you were remembered—new faces are not often seen in Ten-Towns. Catti-brie is no stranger and all know her as your daughter, Bruenor."

"So they know where we are," Drizzt said, tightening his arm around her.

Bruenor scowled fiercely. "Sure'n they know better'n to attack a dwarf in his home," he said gruffly. "Ye have the sanctuary of me halls, Iralen. They'll no' take ye from here without a fight."

Iralen thanked the dwarf, attempting a smile that failed miserably. "I never thought my father would search for me this far north," she whispered.

"They are not led by King Varmil," Regis said, and Iralen's head snapped up. "They are led by an elf named Amandir."

Drizzt's eyes grew cold at the name and Iralen went pale. "What is it?" Bruenor demanded.

"Nothing," the drow said firmly. "He is no one."

The subject was firmly closed. Food was brought to them and they ate in silence, although Iralen only picked at her food, pushing it around on her plate. It was a relief when Wulfgar and Catti-brie arrived near the end of the meal, their hands clasped and their faces shining with a glow that told all they had spent their night in much the same manner as Drizzt and Iralen.

"Regis!" Catti-brie said happily, greeting the halfling with a warm smile. "Ye made the trip in record time!"

"I was already on my way," he said, but with a glance at Iralen's downcast eyes and Drizzt's stony face he muttered, "I'll explain later."

But days passed without any sign of the elven search party. Regis stayed in the mines, fearing that his friendship with the dwarves and Catti-brie would make him a target for interrogation, and he was continually astounded by the change in Drizzt's behavior. The drow had ever been a loner, but now he was rarely seen without Iralen close beside him. The halfling had seldom seen Drizzt allow his emotions to show, but every time Regis glimpsed him in the mines with Iralen his love for her was obvious to all.

It was common knowledge that elves who entered into the bond called _veru'_ formed an attachment far different from mates of other races, and this was the first time Regis had been able to really see this bond up-close. Despite their differences, the dark elf and the surface elf had already forged an especially strong union. Regis watched them with envy, wondering if he would ever find someone that brought that light to his eyes.

Only in the privacy of their chamber did Iralen allow her fears to show. Drizzt held her, reassuring her, but she could not shake the certainty that Amandir would not simply give up and go home without her. "His pride has been wounded," she said. "Father had already announced our betrothal when I ran away."

"He will not take you from me," Drizzt told her fiercely. "He has no claim on you. You are mine, _verne'amin_, my wife. If he tries to take you by force, Bruenor's people will crush him. You are safe here, _melamin."_

Still Iralen only began to relax when two weeks, then three passed without any sign of Amandir. Regis went back to Lonelywood, sending word back that the troop of elves had apparently vanished. Wulfgar's people had seen no sign of them on the open tundra, and with her relief at the passing of danger Iralen began to long for the sun again.

Drizzt knew that living in darkness for these long weeks had been difficult for her, used as she was to seeing the sky and sun every day of her life. She did not speak of it but Drizzt knew that the sun was as necessary as food and water to her, and one evening he guided her to the mine's entrance.

Iralen looked out at the sky with tears in her eyes. "How did you live under the earth for so long?" she asked, the sight of the open sky and the golden sunset filling her heart to bursting.

Drizzt had eyes only for her. "I was born in darkness, like all my people," he said. "Drow do not feel the need of the sun. Only I felt the desire to see the sky and stars, and in so doing made myself an outcast." He smiled down at her and brought her hand to his lips. "It was worth it," he murmured, feeling the warmth of her love for him filling his heart.

He and Iralen stayed inside the mouth of the tunnel, watching the sky until the moon rose high overhead. "We'd better get back before Bruenor begins to worry," Iralen said at last. "Thank you, Drizzt."


	17. Sever

Another week passed without any sign of danger, and Drizzt began to think of returning to his cave. Bruenor made them feel perfectly welcome in his gruff way, but they longed for the solitude and privacy of their home. Despite their trips to the surface, Iralen looked pale and drawn the longer they stayed in the mines. Regis returned once again and told them that Amandir still hadn't been seen in the Dale, and that clinched Drizzt's decision.

He announced their departure at breakfast the next day. Bruenor scowled but didn't protest. "I know ye miss yer home," he said, "but ye know yer always welcome here."

"Thank you for all you've done," Iralen said, bending and kissing the dwarf on his rough cheek. Bruenor grumbled and made a great show of reluctance, but his cheeks shone as brightly as his red beard as she squeezed his hand and turned away.

Soon Iralen and Drizzt were ready to go, Regis at their side. They would accompany the halfling to Lonelywood and provide him with protection through the wilds. Despite his prosperity in a world of criminals and the little mace that hung from his belt, Regis was more adept at talking his way out of trouble than fighting—a tactic that worked well with the inhabitants of Ten-Towns, but was less than effective against yetis or other wild animals of the tundra.

The sun was high in the sky and Drizzt pulled the hood of his cloak low over his face, shielding his eyes from the painful rays. Iralen, however, lifted her face to the light and laughed out loud at the warmth on her face while Regis tripped along behind.

None of them saw the attack coming. Drizzt barely had time to register the soft footstep behind him before the hilt of a sword crashed down on the back of his head, felling him before he could even draw his scimitars. He dropped, limp, to the ground.

Iralen felt him fall and spun, her knives already in her hands, her eyes blazing with fury at the attack on Drizzt. She flung a knife at the first figure she saw but he dodged at the last moment and her blade merely gouged his shoulder instead of sinking fatally into his heart. She slashed out with the long knife in her right hand even as she drew another throwing knife.

The second knife was batted out of the air by a sword and before Iralen could draw again, she was tackled from behind. "Get off me!" she shrieked, slashing blindly with the long knife and feeling it drive deeply into flesh.

She heard a loud curse in Elven and her heart froze, knowing that her fears had been correct and that Amandir had not left the Dale at all. Then the elf on her back suddenly tumbled off her, clutching his head, and Iralen sprang to her feet to see Regis standing behind her, his little mace raised for another strike. Iralen drew another throwing knife but suddenly a calm, amused voice at her back froze her where she stood.

"Come quietly, Princess, or your companion will die."

Iralen turned slowly, breathing hard, her eyes cold as green ice. "Amandir," she whispered.

The tall elf inclined his head, but all Iralen could see was the point of his sword pressed to Drizzt's unprotected back. Amandir stood between two elven archers, both their bows drawn and aimed at her heart, but she felt no fear for herself. She didn't dare to move, praying that Drizzt would continue to lie still. He had fallen with his cloak covering his face and hands, but if Amandir saw his black skin he would know Drizzt for a drow and kill him without hesitation.

Regis cried out and Iralen's head snapped around to see him held by the elf that had tackled her, blood dripping from one deeply flayed thigh, another trickle seeping from beneath his golden hair where Regis's little mace had done its work. Despite his injuries he held a dagger to the halfling's throat, his fair face grim. Regis's little weapon lay forgotten on the ground.

Regis's brown eyes implored her to do something. "Do not hurt him," Iralen said in Elven, infusing her voice with all the authority she could muster and wishing for the first time that she had not forsaken her powers when she'd left her southern home. "I command you to set him free."

The elf started to obey automatically, knowing the unmistakable sound of a royal command when he heard it, but stopped at Amandir's low laugh. "Nicely done," Amandir said with a mocking bow. "Unfortunately Norfindil owes his allegiance to me, not your father. Will you come quietly or shall I order Norfindil to slit the halfling's throat?"

Regis's eyes were wide with fear as the cold steel again pressed against his throat. Iralen closed her eyes, unable to think of any way to fight the inevitable. "I will come with you," she said at last, her voice devoid of emotion. She would not give Amandir the satisfaction of knowing how the words seared her heart.

"No!" Regis cried, kicking out despite his own peril and catching the elf in the stomach with one of his hard little heels. Norfindil flung him against a boulder in fury, silencing the little warrior with a sickening thud.

Iralen whirled on Amandir. "You promised not to hurt him!" she hissed furiously.

The prince shook his head. "No, I promised not to _kill_ him," he corrected with a sneer. He lifted his sword from Drizzt's back and walked over to her, his hand outstretched. "Your weapons, if you please, Princess," he said with the smug confidence she had always hated.

But Iralen raised her chin stubbornly. "I will leave them with the halfling," she said. She knew that Amandir would keep the knives for himself and she couldn't bear the thought of his hands touching the gifts of Drizzt and Catti-brie.

Amandir chuckled, amused and fully understanding her reasoning. "As you wish," he said. "He is no threat to us. See, he did not even render Norfindil unconscious with his pitiful attack."

Iralen went to Regis quickly, unfastening her knives as she went. She placed them into his limp hands with unbearable sadness, wondering if she would ever see him or her weapons again. The _vestamire_ were warm and heavy on her arms and she thought briefly of slipping them off her arms and hiding them beneath the halfling, but dismissed the idea at once. Her cloak concealed them now and she would not cast off the symbol of her bond with Drizzt. If Amandir found them he would know at once what they meant but she would take the risk.

As she approached Amandir she looked closely at Drizzt's limp body stretched on the ground and was relieved to see the slight rise and fall of his breathing. She didn't dare go to him for fear of arousing Amandir's suspicious nature. She reached for him with her heart instead, feeling the strength of his pulse with her very soul and knowing that he was not badly injured. He was deeply unconscious, however, for she felt no more than this from him. For every moment of the last weeks they had shared she had felt him there within her, reassuring her when she was frightened, sharing her amusement at Bruenor's blustering, or simply sending a constant warm current of love even in sleep. Still she did not doubt that their bond was intact.

For now.

She turned resolutely away from her beloved, clasping her arms tightly around herself against the pain of leaving him, and glared up at Amandir. "You may take me by force," she spat fiercely, "but I will never wed you, Amandir."

The smile left the elf-prince's face abruptly and he glanced angrily at the three elves surrounding them, all within earshot of her taunt. "Hold your tongue!" he hissed angrily.

Iralen continued to stare defiantly at him. Amandir brought his temper under control with an obvious effort, although he almost lost it again when her gaze fell on his bleeding shoulder with obvious satisfaction that at least one of her knives had found a mark in his flesh. He strode forward and grabbed her hair, propelling her down the rocky path before him. "You have always been too proud," he snarled in her ear as the rest of his ambush party fell in behind them. "Your father allowed you to have your own way far too often. Those days are over, Princess." He pushed her and she fell, cutting her palms on the ground.

Iralen stood again, letting the thin trickle of blood from her palms drip to the ground, making no effort to staunch the wounds. She stared silently at Amandir, her eyes cold, and did not reply. The prince ground his teeth and shoved her forward roughly. One of the archers stepped forward, but a single scowl from Amandir sent him silently back to his place behind them. He did not see the glances the three elves exchanged behind his back.

They marched far that day and did not stop at nightfall. Iralen saw the glow of lights in the distance as they passed Lonelywood, but Amandir did not approach the town. Instead he continued south over the barren wastelands.

He stopped her a few hours before dawn by pulling her hair sharply back. Iralen fell backward, crying out before she could stop it, and her eyes widened as scores of elves melted from the night around her, all their eyes fixed on her. Amandir grinned down at her as she pulled her cloak tightly about herself, ensuring the mithril bands were hidden from view. "You need not fear, Princess," he said, misunderstanding her gesture. "I will not partake of your loveliness until you are my queen."

"It will never happen," Iralen vowed, the thought of joining with the fair prince repellant to her.

Amandir grasped her forearm and yanked her to her feet, furious at being rebuffed again in front of his men. But the abrupt movement dislodged Iralen's cloak and the mithril band about her upper arm was suddenly exposed. It was the band of night and the gems kindled in a sudden blaze of starlight. The moonstone glowed, waning to match the quarter-moon that floated in the sky above them.

A murmur went through the soldiers around them but Iralen did not take her eyes from Amandir, hardly daring to breathe. He roughly grabbed her other arm, exposing the other magnificent _vestamir_ to view. The band of day also kindled, the citrine sun sending a beam of golden sunlight into the darkness like a beckon. The elves closest to them backed away out of the circle of light and Iralen fought to control her fear and surprise. She had never felt a glimmer of magic from the bands before this moment and now when her soul was torn and her heart empty, this display rocked her to the core.

"What is the meaning of this?" Amandir demanded, shaking her violently. The glow from the _vestamire_ did not touch him, and in the circle of light he was a creature of shadow.

Iralen did not cry out and made no attempt to pull away, knowing that it would only enrage him further. She did not know what had triggered the sudden show of light from her _vestamire_, but she knew suddenly that she must not give up hope. Drizzt was coming. She was as certain of it as if she had felt him again in her heart. "I am _veru'_ with another," she said in a quiet voice that nonetheless carried, lifting her chin. "You have stolen another elf's soul-bound mate, Prince Amandir."

The murmurings around them grew louder. Amandir stared at her in shock. It was a crime punishable by death to attempt to sunder the sacred bond. Amandir's brows drew together thunderously at this betrayal. "How dare you?" he snarled, releasing her wrist to backhand her across the face. "You are pledged to me!"

Iralen rocked back on her heels at the blow but did not cry out. Instead she looked back at him icily, silently, hearing the whispers of shock from the elves surrounding her. If there was to be any chance of escape, she must let Amandir do what he would to her and hope for the sympathy of his troops.

Again he struck her, driving her to her knees this time. She struggled to her feet, her vision blurred with tears of pain but refusing to kneel before Amandir. She lifted her chin defiantly. "We are one soul," she said quietly, but in the hush of the shocked troops her words were heard by all. "You cannot sever this tie with your fists."

"But sever it I will, you faithless whore!" Amandir shrieked back, throwing her to the ground.

Then he grasped one of the bands and began to pull. This was more than she could bear. Iralen screamed and fought, forgetting her vow to take his abuse with silent scorn, raking his face with her fingernails and kicking out at his legs. "No! No!" she cried, feeling the _vestamir_ sliding slowly off her arm despite her struggles. She bit his hand, sinking her teeth deep and drawing blood even as her fingers clawed for his eyes.

"Enough!" he roared, swinging his hard fist into her jaw. Blackness closed over Iralen and she fell, the echoes of her own screams following her into oblivion. But even in unconsciousness her arms remained locked to her sides, resisting Amandir's increasingly violent struggles to remove the armbands.

"You!" Amandir shouted, piercing a nearby soldier with his furious gaze. "Come and hold her arm!"

But the soldier, sickened, spat on the ground and turned away. "This sin you commit alone, Prince," he said gruffly, and his disgust was palpable.

Amandir seized his bow and put an arrow in the soldier's heart without hesitation. "I have no use for those who will not obey me!" he roared. But when he raked his eyes over his troops none would meet his stare and his order that Iralen's arms be held straight was ignored by every last one of them. In the end he wrenched the _vestamire_ free himself, tearing her skin in his rage and flinging the bands into the night. There they glowed still, mocking his fury.

When Iralen woke at last, biting back groans of pain from Amandir's beating, it was dawn and her arms were bare.


	18. Emptiness

"Wake up, Rumblebelly," a gruff voice commanded, the sound like shattered glass in his tender brain.

Regis woke to a throbbing pain in his head. He groaned and tried to lift his hands to cradle his aching head, but paused in groggy confusion when he found that they were already full. He opened his eyes with difficulty and saw that night had fallen. For a long moment he didn't understand why he was lying on the ground, exposed to the ever-present icy wind with his hands full of knives and Bruenor's concerned face bending over him.

Then memory returned to him with the force of a thunderbolt. Regis stared in horror at the weapons in his hands, recognizing them at last. He jumped to his feet, ignoring Bruenor's anxious look, and ran to where he remembered Drizzt falling.

The drow was there still, face-down on the rocky ground, as invisible as a shadow in the deepest night. Regis fell to his knees and shook Drizzt as hard as he could. "Wake up, wake up!" he pleaded, trying without success to roll the unconscious elf onto his back one-handed, clutching Iralen's weapons in the other. Bruenor followed him, frowning, and pulled out a canteen. Without hesitation he poured freezing water over the drow's slack face.

Drizzt came awake with a speed Regis could never have imagined. One moment he was unconscious, lying on his face, and the next he had Regis by the throat, lifting him into the air and snarling like an enraged panther.

"Drizzt!" the halfling squeaked, his feet flailing in midair. "Don't hurt me!"

Drizzt stared at him for a moment before the lavender eyes finally focused. "What happened?" he groaned, dropping Regis and putting a hand to the back of his head.

"Sure'n I'd like to know that meself," Bruenor said, also staring at the halfling.

Regis's knees gave way when his feet hit the ground and he fell again, the knives spilling from his hand with a clatter against the stones. Drizzt stared at them for a long moment, his entire body going rigid.

When he looked at Regis again the halfling almost fled in terror. "What happened?" Drizzt growled, his lavender eyes flashing with the fire of vengeance. "Where is Iralen?"

Regis had to swallow hard before he could answer, and even then his voice trembled. "It—it was an ambush," he managed at last. "They knocked you out first—Iralen fought, and I tried to help, but—"

Drizzt reached out and gathered Iralen's knives with a hand that was rock steady. "Which way did they go?" he said in a quiet, calm voice that terrified Regis more than a shout.

"I don't know," the halfling whispered. "One of them threw me against that rock over there and knocked me out—I didn't see them leave. I don't know how I came to have her knives—"

Drizzt rose, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with wrath. "Amandir," he hissed, staring into the darkness with his far-seeing eyes. "I will kill him for this."

Bruenor stopped the drow as he tried to stride away, standing in his path as unmovable as a boulder. "Ye can't go like this!" he said, refusing to let Drizzt by. "Yer up against an army! Me scouts saw 'em marchin' south, more'n two hundred of 'em. That's why we came out lookin' fer ye. Be reasonable, Drizzt! Even ye can't take on an army by yerself!"

But Drizzt was in no mood to be reasonable. "I'll not just let them take her!" he roared, trying to move around the dwarf. Already he felt the emptiness welling within him, every mile separating him from his life-mate draining his soul of all emotion save rage. "You do not understand what they have done, Bruenor, or you too would burn with the need for revenge!" Unable to maneuver around the stubborn dwarf, Drizzt drew a scimitar and aimed it at Bruenor's heart.

Bruenor refused to yield, and when a dwarf decided to stay put it took more than one furious drow to move him. The dwarf slapped aside Drizzt's scimitar as though he merely swatted an annoying fly and grabbed the drow by the shirt. "Listen to me! I'm not tellin' ye to give up. Ye need an army, I tell ye, and I have one!" Bruenor shouted back, shaking Drizzt hard. "We will march wi' ye!"

Drizzt finally met Bruenor's eyes, and the dwarf's tender heart ached at the agony he saw there. "We'll go at first light," he promised, releasing Drizzt's shirt and clasping his arm. "If'n they have two hundred to stand between ye an' her, I'll give ye three hundred to even th' score. Ye won't lose her, Drizzt. Sure'n I promise ye that."

"I cannot ask you to fight my battle for me," Drizzt said, knowing that the dwarves depended on the elven trade for survival.

Bruenor spat on the ground. "Bah," he grunted, waving a hand dismissively. "Sure'n they started this by settin' foot on my mountain and takin' one I'd granted my protection. I'll not allow them to get away wi' that!"

Drizzt slowly turned away from the south, knowing that his friend was right to wait and gather troops, but his blood boiled with the need to race after her. Iralen was strong and knew he wouldn't abandon her. He had to remember that. Every second he delayed was torture, but he would not risk failure by refusing the dwarf's help. "You're right," he forced himself to say, ignoring every instinct of his heart. "I will wait and go with you at dawn, Bruenor."

That night was the longest of Drizzt's life. The darkness held no peace for him, the shadows that had always allowed him seclusion and solitude gave him no ease. He could not bear to return to the chamber he and Iralen had shared. He could not remember ever feeling like this, terror and rage and desperation all mixed together. He did not know how to handle the volatile emotions. He had always been able to control his feelings, especially with the promise of approaching battle, but instead of the familiar battle-lust Drizzt felt almost physically ill with dread.

Regis stayed with him, expecting the drow to question him closely regarding the ambush, but Drizzt did not speak. Instead Regis watched the dark elf pacing up and down the Great Hall as the long hours passed, Iralen's emerald-handled long knife in his dark hand, his lavender eyes haunted, and wished he could find words of comfort for his friend's obvious pain. His brown eyes fell on the high table where he had first seen Drizzt and Iralen together and his heart broke for them.

Only once did Drizzt look his way and Regis couldn't hold his tortured gaze. The guilt the halfling felt for failing to protect his friend's wife only made the sight of Drizzt's grief harder to bear. He looked down at his soft body and pitifully small weapon in disgust and shame, wishing he were a warrior the size of Wulfgar. He was certain that the seven-foot tall barbarian would not have gone down in the ambush with only a slightly bruised elf-skull to his credit.

Just before dawn Drizzt forced himself to enter his bedchamber, but even as Regis turned to retreat down the hall and give the drow his privacy, Drizzt emerged again, his face unreadable as stone. Drizzt did not speak as he passed the halfling but tossed a small leather pack at his soft belly.

Regis caught it in surprise, and as he trotted after Drizzt through the tunnels he glanced inside. He almost dropped it in shock then, seeing Iralen's magic knives and long dagger there. Regis stared at Drizzt's retreating back, his brown eyes filling with tears, knowing as though the drow had spoken the words aloud that he placed no blame on Regis for Iralen's capture. Regis slung the little pack over his shoulder and his spine straightened. When he caught up with Drizzt his jaw was set and his face was as stern as any of the dwarven warriors that awaited them.


	19. Wounded

When he left the tunnels at the breaking of dawn, Drizzt walked at the head of a body of more than three hundred grim dwarves. Before they'd even reached the place where Drizzt and Iralen had been attacked, Wulfgar appeared, leading a hundred of his barbarian kin armed with bows, hammers, and heavy clubs.

"My people have seen them moving along the tundra," Wulfgar told Drizzt as his warriors joined ranks with the dwarves, Catti-brie at his side with her enchanted bow slung over her shoulder. "We add our strength to yours, my friend."

He did not tell Drizzt of the reports his scouts had given of Iralen's treatment. He didn't mention the fresh bruises on her face or the elven prince's manner of forcing her to march by her hair. The barbarian feared that Drizzt would lose what little control he retained over his rage if he knew that Iralen suffered at the hands of the elf that had captured her.

They soon found the marks of blood on the rocky ground near the ambush and Drizzt's face hardened. "Perhaps she wounded one of 'em," Catti-brie offered quietly.

"And perhaps they wounded her," Drizzt replied, his voice as stony as his face. The loss of contact with Iralen's spirit was a continual torment, and not knowing if she were injured was agony. He touched the dark patch, remembering how he had found her in his cave so many weeks ago. "She is unarmed now, Cat."

"She is a mighty warrior," Catti-brie reminded him gently. "They will no' break her, Drizzt." But privately she was deeply worried. One night only had passed since Iralen's capture and Drizzt's face was ravaged with grief, his eyes haunted. She dared not think what would happen to her dearest friend if they were unable to reunite them.

They found the raiding party's first campsite as the sun reached its zenith overhead. Drizzt cursed his night-attuned eyes, wanting to scrutinize every inch of the ground and unable to do so because of the near-blindness the day brought him. But the barbarians, master trackers, fanned out over the ground, reading clues in every crushed clod of soil and half-scattered pile of ash.

It was Wulfgar who found the armband of night. His hands shook as he lifted the band from the ground where it had been flung, far from the rest of the campsite. He squinted across the landscape, finding at last a bright citrine glint in the barren soil. The brilliant sun set in the mithril caught the sunlight as he lifted the armband from the earth, dazzling his eyes. The mithril gleamed in the light, but as he turned it in his massive hands he saw several spots where the bright metal shone red.

He approached Drizzt warily, knowing what pain this would bring to his friend. The drow stood huddled in his cloak, facing the south. He did not turn when Wulfgar stopped beside him. "Your feet hesitate, Wulfgar," Drizzt said quietly. "What have you found?"

Wulfgar held out the _vestamire_ with a sigh, the mithril bands small in his huge hand. Drizzt swayed as though the barbarian had struck him with his magical battle-hammer, his black hands clenching at his sides. "Where did you find these?" the drow whispered harshly.

"Far from the camp," Wulfgar answered, feeling his friend's anguish as acutely as if it were his own. "There were no tracks around them."

"They were thrown away," Drizzt said, taking them from Wulfgar and holding them tight. Even his eyes, dazzled by the bright sun, could see the streaks of blood on them. "He ripped them from her arms and threw them away."

His voice held no emotion but his breathing was harsh. Abruptly he shoved the bands into the pocket of his cloak and strode away, not waiting for the army to follow him. Wulfgar gave a loud shout, gathering his barbarian kin as he followed Drizzt south, and within minutes the entire army was on the move again.

As they marched Drizzt kept his hands thrust into the pockets of his cloak. Iralen's armbands were held tightly in his right hand, and the metal remained cold despite his grip. His left hand fingered a mask.

Throughout the sleepless hours before dawn Drizzt had thought hard, agonizing over what was to come. Despite Bruenor's reassurances, he did not want his friend's people to suffer because they had made war on the elves on his behalf. Somehow, he needed to find a way to get Iralen away from the elf-host without resorting to full battle, and just before dawn he had come upon the solution.

He knew well the Elven concepts of pride and honor. Iralen had injured Amandir's pride by her flight, and in seeking to reclaim her he also sought to reclaim his honor. Drizzt must play on that sense of honor and challenge him to defend what he'd stolen. But no challenge from a drow would be considered worthy of notice, and his mere presence among the dwarves would likely be considered an open declaration of war. If the elves knew that Iralen had bound herself to a drow, her life would be forfeit. No, he could not allow himself to be seen.

As much as he hated it, the mask was his only option. The magic inherent in the plain wooden mask did more than simply hide his face. When he put it on, his skin became fair, his hair golden—the very image of a surface elf. Only his eyes remained his own.

Drizzt had never been ashamed of his heritage, for to deny that would be to deny himself. Hiding his face had always seemed cowardly. But for Iralen he would swallow his pride and do what he must to get her back, and he refused to bring suffering to Bruenor's people because of their king's loyal and gentle heart. Concealing his true self for the space of a swordfight seemed a small price to pay to have Iralen safe in his arms again.

They caught sight of Amandir's army near dusk, a haze of dust in the distance. Drizzt's lavender eyes glowed in the falling dark, and although the army made a brief stop for food and rest, he did not eat or even sit. His friends watched him pacing like a wounded lion with deep concern.

"He will no' wait 'til the dawn," Catti-brie murmured to Wulfgar and Bruenor. "If we stop now, sure'n he'll go on alone."

"Not alone," Regis said unexpectedly, and they looked in surprise at the halfling. No longer timid at the thought of battle, he gripped his little mace grimly. "I too have a grievance to settle with the elves." His friends looked at him in astonishment, but none doubted that this time he would plunge into battle if it came.

"Regis is right," Wulfgar said, breaking the silence that had followed the halfling's unexpected words. "We have not come this far to let him leave us here."

The dwarf king rose abruptly to his feet and his generals rushed over to him. "Light no torches," Bruenor commanded his dwarves. "We'll come on 'em in the night and make our challenge in the mornin'." They banged their fists to their chests in salute and were gone.

Catti-brie approached Drizzt cautiously as the dwarves and barbarians made ready to move out behind him. "We'll be movin' on soon," she said softly, stopping a few feet away from her friend. For the first time in her life she felt hesitant to come closer to the drow.

Drizzt didn't take his eyes from the distant line of the army. For a long moment he didn't speak and Catti-brie thought he wouldn't reply. Then his shoulders slumped and he turned to face her. "I fear for her, Cat," he whispered, bringing the _vestamire _from within his cloak and staring at them. "She would never have removed these while she had breath in her body. What has he done to her?"

The agonized whisper cut her to the soul. Catti-brie forgot her uncertainty and rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight. He stood rigid in her embrace for a long moment before his arms came around her, squeezing her so tightly her breath came out in a rush. But she did not pull away or protest, knowing he needed her now more than he would ever admit. She could find no words to comfort him and indeed had felt the same fear since Wulfgar had told her what he had found.

At last the drow released her and turned away again. Catti-brie returned to Wulfgar's side, slipping her hand into his with a sigh. Love for the massive man swelled within her and she wondered how she would have reacted in Iralen's situation, powerless to fight her kidnappers for fear they would slay her beloved, and unable to know when or even if she would see her husband again.

But Cat hadn't spent all that time in Lonelywood getting to know the elf named _Daring_ for nothing. Weaponless she might be, but helpless was a word that could never be applied to Iralen. Whatever had happened to her in the elf camp, Catti-brie was certain that Iralen's fighting spirit and her faith in Drizzt would never be broken. Like Drizzt, she waited with barely controlled impatience for the day to surrender to night.


	20. Face Me

Drizzt flung back the cowl of his cloak as the last of the sun's rays faded from the sky. He led the army at his back silently forward, picking their way through icy patches and over the endless flat tundra without a sound. The dwarves were well versed in this kind of battle, and the barbarians, used to stealthily tracking their prey, moved with complete silence. Nearly five hundred foes had completely encircled the elven camp when the night began to lighten with the approaching sunrise.

The first cry of alarm went up from the sentry before dawn. Elven archers scrambled for their bows and soldiers drew their swords, staring in astonishment at the ring of grim dwarves and impossibly large barbarians that had crept around them in the night.

Drizzt had tied the mask on before the sun inched over the horizon. His friends watched the transformation with disquiet, hating that this honorable being had to disguise himself to avoid instant hatred because of the color of his skin. When the sun had full risen Drizzt strode forward, his now-golden hair blowing in the ever-present wind as he passed through the ranks of dwarves and barbarians to the open space separating the two armies.

"Halt!" cried an archer in the common tongue, drawing his bow. "State your intent, stranger!"

Drizzt answered in Elven. "I have come for Veryien Eledhwen," he said, "and to take revenge on the one who dared to remove these!" And he held the mithril _vestamire_ aloft.

It was a challenge the archer did not dare ignore. He quickly muttered something in the ear of a nearby soldier, who ran out of sight. Drizzt thrust the armbands into his pocket, waiting with hands resting on his scimitars for Amandir to appear.

Soon the runner came back into view, followed by a tall elf with the unmistakable air of royalty. Drizzt's vision clouded with hatred but he forced the emotion away, sharpening his battle-lust.

"Who are you?" the tall elf shouted from well within the lines of his troops.

"I am Drizzt Do'Urden," the drow responded, "and I am _veru'_ with the one you have stolen. I challenge you now to single combat, Amandir, to settle the matter with your blood!"

"I stole nothing," the elf returned, smiling in a way that made the drow's blood boil. "I have merely reclaimed what was promised to me."

A commotion within one of the tents distracted the prince, however, and for a moment all turned to see what was going on. Suddenly a guard came flying backward out of the tent, landing hard on his back, and Iralen bolted from within. Several more guards converged on her, but while she lashed out viciously at them, they sought only to lay hands on her and returned no blows. Despite the fact that she was outnumbered four to one, Iralen had managed to break away. She was running toward the line of warriors when she saw Drizzt standing in the clearing and stumbled, shaking her head as if to clear her vision. Drizzt took a step forward before regaining control of himself, meeting her eyes at last across the lines of Elven warriors.

Iralen was confused. She had heard Drizzt's voice, had heard his challenge to Amandir, but the fair elf who stood alone in the clearing between the two armies was no drow. Then he met her eyes and she gasped, seeing the familiar lavender orbs in the strange face. It _was_ him! Iralen's heart seemed to skip a beat and her feet faltered, and Amandir took advantage of her momentary hesitation.

He seized her by the hair and dragged her forward, a cold smile poisoning his face. "Is this what you come for, Drizzt Do'Urden?" he called, deliberately taunting Drizzt by holding Iralen before him as a shield to any arrows that might fly his way. He caressed her throat with his free hand, laughing when she slammed both elbows back only to meet empty air as he shoved her away from him, drawing her up short by her long hair. "You will not have her!" Amandir leered. "I claim her now as my betrothed, and once I tame her she will make a fine plaything for my bed!"

Drizzt tossed off his cloak and drew his scimitars, his eyes ablaze but his body very still. "Come, then, and let us discuss the matter," he said, pointing one blade at Amandir.

"Why should I fight you?" Amandir countered, tightening his grip in Iralen's hair, attempting to make her cry out with pain. Iralen only held Drizzt's eyes and refused to make a sound. Amandir glowered at her in frustration, but when he turned back to Drizzt the smile was firmly back in place. "I have what you want and the strength to defend it."

"You are outnumbered more than two to one," Drizzt corrected him. "But this need not involve armies. Are you too much of a coward to face me alone?"

Amandir became suddenly aware of his troops staring at him, and on every face was a look of disgust. His captains did not meet his eyes. His jaw tightened. Once before Veryien Eledhwen had wounded his honor, and now it was happening again. He shoved her roughly aside but Norfindil was there and caught her before she hit the ground.

"Come, then!" Drizzt shouted, slicing his blades through the air, his eyes lingering on the long fingernail scratches marring the elf's face. The bruises marring Iralen's perfect skin raised his fury to new heights. "Unless you are too fatigued from fighting with an unarmed female to face me, that is?"

It was the last straw. Amandir snatched his sword from the scabbard at his waist and pushed his way through the lines of archers and soldiers, meeting Drizzt in the open space between the armies.

"I will cut you to ribbons," he growled, swinging his sword in front of him.

Drizzt only smiled. "Much wind pours from your mouth," he said calmly. "Let us see if your sword is as sharp as your forked tongue."

The drow's attack came with a suddenness and ferocity that drove Amandir back, parrying desperately. When Amandir tripped over a stone and fell, Drizzt slapped him on the cheek with the flat of one blade. "Come, surely you can do better than that," he taunted, stepping back to allow the elf to get to his feet.

Amandir leapt to his feet with a roar of fury, initiating a blur of stabs and slashing. Drizzt held his ground, easily turning aside each plunge of the sword and slapping Amandir with the flats of his blades whenever the elf opened his guard, finally planting a foot in his chest and kicking him to the ground again.

"Perhaps you cannot do better than that," Drizzt said, shaking his head in mock-pity. "How embarrassing for you. Not only are you going to die, but your army will witness your ineptitude again and again before I am finished with you."

Amandir rose more cautiously this time, seeing the truth of Drizzt's words in his blazing lavender eyes. For the first time in his life, Amandir had met an enemy that cared nothing for his royal status and would not pull his punches. He glanced back at his army, but the faces that met his gaze were stony, every sword sheathed, every bow lowered. There would be no help from there.

A sudden slashing blade split his cheek to the bone and Amandir whirled back to face Drizzt with a cry of pain. "Never take your eye off your enemy, stupid boy!" Drizzt admonished him before lunging forward again.

This time the razor-sharp edges of the scimitars bit Amandir, small wounds that infuriated him while draining him of strength. Amandir looked into Drizzt's eyes and saw his death there, and he fought with all the power in him. Despite his redoubled efforts, Drizzt cut him again and again and Amandir's blade found only air.

At last, riddled with uncounted small slashes, stumbling from exhaustion and blood loss, Amandir lost his sword to a quick flurry of Drizzt's scimitars. He stood weaponless before the drow, panting and bloody, but determined to meet his death on his feet.

The point of a scimitar hovered a hair's breadth from his throat. "Yield," Drizzt demanded harshly.

Amandir glared at him for a long moment, fury and pride mingling with his own natural stubbornness. Drizzt stabbed him in both thighs, bringing him to his knees with a cry. "Yield!" he snarled again.

Amandir raised his head slowly. "Kill me, then," he said defiantly, "for I do not yield to you!"

Drizzt raised his blade for the final blow, but suddenly Iralen was there, running across the open ground and flinging herself into his arms. He stumbled back a step with the force of her impact but clasped her tightly against him, his scimitars still in his hands. Amandir moved, eyes dark with anger, but Drizzt flicked one of his blades and the pointed tip of the prince's ear fell to the ground.

"Stay where you are," Drizzt growled warningly, backing away with Iralen in his arms.

"Kill me!" Amandir demanded, ignoring Drizzt's command and rising painfully to his feet, struggling after them.

"Your humiliation satisfies me better," Drizzt replied coldly. "And erase those thoughts of revenge from your mind, elf, for if we meet again I will cut you a hundred times more and still leave you breathing."

Amandir watched them go, breathing heavily and burning with rage and shame. When they reached the line of dwarves he stooped and grasped his sword, lifting it like a spear and driving it at Iralen with all the strength he possessed.

Drizzt heard it whistle through the air and pushed Iralen to the ground, the blade passing so close to her head that several dark hairs fell severed at his feet before the sword shattered against Bruenor's mithril shield. Drizzt turned with a roar of rage, raising his blades again, but before he had taken more than two steps Amandir stumbled back with a knife embedded deeply in his throat. He was dead before his body met the rocky earth.

Drizzt whirled to see Iralen sitting on the ground beside Regis, the sheathes of her throwing knives just visible at the mouth of his pack. For a moment there was stunned silence as he went to kneel beside her.

"I should not have—you were right to let him live," Iralen murmured, again finding refuge in his arms. Only he felt how her body trembled and he crushed her to his chest, the unbearable emptiness within him suddenly filled to overflowing with her nearness.

Drizzt buried his face in her dark hair, uncaring of the seven hundred pairs of eyes on them as they knelt on the ground. "Shh, Iralen," he soothed. "No blame falls on you for this, _melamin_."

She raised her head and the look of love in her green eyes was almost his undoing. "I vowed when he took me that I would kill him for harming you," she whispered. "I have never killed another elf, but I will never be sorry for this."

"Shh," Drizzt said again, stroking her hair. "The world is a better place without him in it."

Iralen's eyes devoured his face but she frowned. "How have you done this?" she whispered, fingering a lock of his golden hair. "I like it not!"

He couldn't help but smile. "It is a mask," he replied. "I had to do it this way, _melamin_. He would not have responded to the challenge from a drow."

Her fingers brushed the tender skin of his scalp. Iralen found the invisible ties that held the magical mask in place and carefully untied it. He didn't move as she pulled the mask away, his dark skin and stark white hair emerging from the enchantment. "Much better," she whispered with a smile, kissing him long and deeply and not caring if every elf in Amandir's army knew that she had bound herself to a dark elf.

He reached into the pocket of his cloak and withdrew the mithril _vestamire._ "I believe you lost something along the way," he murmured against her lips, pulling her arms from around his neck to slip the bands back into place as she gasped to see them again. The jewels caught fire again, surrounding them in a sphere of glowing light.

Drizzt lifted her in his arms at last, turning without a backward glance to the north and the distant looming bulk of Kelvin's Cairn. Bruenor and Wulfgar followed, leading their armies back to their homes. The Elven army made no move to hinder them but silently watched them go. Only when the host had passed out of sight did the elves begin to break camp.

They, too, marched homeward without a backward glance. Amandir's body they left for the carrion birds, too ashamed of their prince to even cover him with a cloak. Norfindil, their captain in Amandir's absence, ordered his company to forget they had ever seen the fair elven warrior transform before their eyes into a drow elf. Regardless of his black skin, the drow had shown more courage and honor in that one hour than Amandir had in the centuries Norfindil had known him.

No one argued. They had no desire to cross Drizzt Do'Urden again.


	21. Magic

Drizzt carried Iralen the rest of that day–because he needed it, not Iralen–until the army stopped at sunset to camp. Even then Drizzt did not leave her side. They spoke little as they ate the evening meal with Regis, Wulfgar, Catti-brie and Bruenor, but all could see the angry bruises marring Iralen's creamy skin and the fury that yet burned in Drizzt's lavender eyes.

But Iralen shook her head dismissively when Catti-brie offered to tend her wounds. "Do not trouble yourself, my dear friend," the elf said with a smile. "They do not bother me now."

Drizzt's arms tightened around her. "When I see the marks that bastard put on you I wish that I had tortured him further," he growled.

Iralen silenced him with a soft kiss. "I allowed this, Drizzt," she said soothingly. At his scowl she laughed. "Do you think me incapable of defending myself? No, husband, his army despised him all the more every time he struck me. I felt it more expedient to remain the helpless victim until an opportunity to escape came."

Drizzt touched the long scrapes on her arms. "I did not fear until Wulfgar found these," he murmured, his fingers tracing the designs on the _vestamire_.

For the first time since her rescue Iralen's green eyes clouded as that horrible moment lived again in her memory. But she shook her head and merely leaned more fully into the drow's embrace. "It doesn't matter now," she said, and they all respected the finality of her words. "I did not doubt you would come, Drizzt, and I knew that Amandir would never take me even as far as the Spine of the World before you overtook us."

She smiled at her friends, dearer now that family. "Thank you all," she said softly, her eyes resting on each of them in turn. "I am blessed to have such friends."

Bruenor shrugged and stomped his feet, grunting in reply. Wulfgar nodded and put his arm around Catti-brie, and Regis blushed deeply. Iralen left Drizzt's arms for the first time to go to the halfling, taking his small hands in hers. "I am indebted to you most of all, Regis," she said.

"M-me?" he stammered, overwhelmed as always by the beautiful elf.

She smiled. "You fought a foe twice your size for me," she replied. "Even when I surrendered, you kept fighting. I will never forget that, Regis. Never." And she kissed the stunned halfling full on the mouth. When Iralen pulled away a moment later Regis looked fearfully at Drizzt.

The drow laughed. "I'm not going to hurt you," Drizzt reassured him. "She's right. I'd kiss you too."

"No thank you!" Regis squeaked, his round little face bright red, and they all laughed.

After Amandir's attack, Drizzt and Iralen accepted Bruenor's invitation to move into his mines. Now that her identity was known, too many of the ruffians of the Dale would likely think her an easy mark with 'only' Drizzt to defend her. She was not in any danger from them, but it would cause less trouble all around to stay with the dwarves in their secure mines.

One year passed, then two. Ten-Towns remained in a typical state of turmoil, and eventually Bruenor and his friends left to find his rightful home, Mithril Hall. It took many months of searching and battle to reclaim the rich tunnels, but at last Bruenor reclaimed his birthright as the Eighth King of Mithril Hall. Drizzt and Iralen stayed to help him rid the vast complex of tunnels of the last remaining goblins and evil gray dwarves. In return for their help, Bruenor himself crafted a pair of fine mithril bracers for Drizzt, the perfect match to the armbands he'd found in Icingdeath's hoard.

One evening Iralen and Drizzt sat outside on the high ledge where they customarily watched the sunset, wrapped comfortably in Drizzt's thick green cloak. Iralen sighed and turned to kiss the strong line of his jaw. "It's so peaceful here," she murmured. "Did you ever think you'd come to a place like this when you left Menzoberranzan?"

He shrugged. "I never imagined where I'd end up," he said. "I only knew I had to leave." The sun dipped below the distant horizon, painting the sky in vivid colors. They were silent again for a long moment as the sky slowly darkened. Then Drizzt spoke again. "You never speak of your own home, _melamin._"

He felt her hesitation within his own heart. "If I have upset you, please forget I mentioned it."

"No," Iralen said, shaking her head and rising to her feet. "No, Drizzt. Nothing you say could upset me."

He also stood, frowning in concern. "Then what is it? I feel your turmoil." Iralen turned back to him, and in her jade eyes he saw fear and uncertainty, emotions that echoed inside him. "What is it?" he repeated.

Iralen took a deep breath. He could feel her struggling for words to explain and reached for her hand, needing to give her the support she obviously needed. But she shook her head and stepped back, holding up a hand.

"_Lokte'!"_ Iralen murmured, and suddenly a sea of lavender blossoms sprang from the stony ground all around them. Drizzt raised his eyebrows, looking down at them in surprise.

"I didn't know you could spellcast," he said.

Iralen plucked one of the flowers and they dissolved into perfumed smoke. "This was the first spell I ever learned," she said softly. "You didn't know because I haven't been able to cast even this simple charm in three years. My powers vanished when I left my father's realm."

Drizzt shook his head. "I don't understand," he admitted.

"Drizzt, my magic comes from my father's kingdom," Iralen explained, the light in her eyes quiet and dim. "Or, if I am outside my homelands, from Varmil himself."

Understanding dawned at last and Drizzt sat down hard on a nearby boulder. "How close is he?"

Iralen spread her hands. "I don't know," she whispered. "I feel the magic within me, but I am afraid to use it lest he sense it. But he must be near for the magic to return at all." Her eyes were haunted as she at last returned to his side, lacing her fingers through his. "_A'mael,_ this is not like what happened with Amandir. If Father comes for me, there is no hope of withstanding him."

Drizzt pulled her into his arms. "You should not have kept this fear from me," he admonished gently, running gentle fingers through her hair. "Iralen, we will face what comes together. It can be no other way. If you go I will go with you even if it can only be as a slave."

"I would die rather than see you enslaved," Iralen vowed, her voice muffled against his chest.

"And I would live a thousand years in chains to spare your life," Drizzt countered. He lifted her chin and smiled down at her. "Did I ever tell you I thought you were a sorceress the first time I looked into your eyes?"

Iralen laughed even though her cheeks were wet with tears. "No," she whispered. "Did you really?"

He nodded. "I did," he said. "I think my soul knew yours from that first glance, but my mind took some time to catch on to the idea. Drow have no word for love, you know, and the idea of _veru'_ is utterly foreign. Montalio had told me of it but I could not comprehend binding my soul to anyone until I looked into your eyes. I thought you had bewitched me." He dried her tears with the soft hem of his cloak. "Don't cry, Iralen. We will discuss it with Bruenor tonight. Together we may find a solution."

But she shook her head. "He must not move against my father," she said firmly. "Bruenor would be crushed and his people destroyed. You do not know the power he wields, Drizzt. We cannot allow our friends to become involved in this!"

"Sure'n ye have little faith in me father."

Catti-brie's voice behind them made them both jump. Drizzt sighed and turned, realizing belatedly that it was fully dark now and that he and Iralen had stayed out far past the dinner hour. "Are ye in trouble, Iralen?" Catti-brie asked bluntly, stopping before them with her hands on her hips.

Iralen looked at her friend and found that she could not lie. Drizzt urged her to tell the truth, his support warm within her, giving her strength. She sighed, knowing she could not resist them both, and bowed to the inevitable.

Catti-brie reacted much the same way Drizzt had. "Why did ye not tell us?" she demanded. "And how could ye think to keep us from standin' at yer side?"

The first real smile in days touched Iralen's lips at her outrage. "I'm sorry, Cat," she said with genuine contrition. "I've clearly underestimated you all. I thought only for your safety."

"Come," Drizzt said, drawing Iralen to her feet. "Let's return to the mines. Perhaps Regis has saved us a morsel or two."


	22. Nearer

No more was spoken of Varmil's approach that night, but after Iralen slept Drizzt slipped from their chamber. He felt strange leaving her alone. Since the evening she'd returned to his cave three years ago, the only nights he and Iralen had spent apart had been during Amandir's capture.

But this couldn't wait until the morning. Drizzt hastened through the dark tunnels until he came to Bruenor's chambers and knocked softly.

"Go away!" came the sleepy grunt from within.

Drizzt took that as permission to enter and quickly slipped inside. "Bruenor, I have to talk to you," he whispered urgently, lighting a candle with a wave of his dark hand.

The dwarf sat up grumpily in bed. "This better be good, drow," he growled, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Then he blinked and took a better look at Drizzt. "Where's yer other half?"

"That's what I have to talk to you about," Drizzt said. "She doesn't want you to know, but she thinks King Varmil is coming to find her."

That wiped the last trace of sleep from the dwarf's mind. "Varmil? Comin' here?" Bruenor demanded. Drizzt nodded grimly. "Why in the Nine Hells did ye have to have a princess, Drizzt?" the dwarf lamented. "Sure'n someone's always comin' to take her away from ye!"

A ghost of a smile crossed Drizzt's face. "It wasn't something I could control, you know," he said.

Bruenor shook his red beard in exasperation. "O' course we'll stand with ye, Drizzt," he said gruffly. "But I'm thinkin' yer not here to ask fer me support in battle."

"I pray it won't come to that," Drizzt replied. "Iralen says Varmil would crush us all, and as much as it pains me to admit it, everything I've heard of the Eledhwen supports her assessment. No, my friend, I ask only that you remain on your guard. Scouts and traders may hear something of their movements before long, and I would know of their approach before they are at your doors."

Bruenor jumped out of bed and paced up and down the little room. "I'll be sendin' Regis to Settlestone in the mornin'," he said. "If 'tis information ye need, that trickster's the one t' get it fer ye, no mistake. An' we'll be steppin' up our patrols at the borders. That good enough fer ye?"

Drizzt nodded his thanks. "Now get outta here and lemme sleep!" Bruenor demanded, and Drizzt left feeling considerably better. He needed to know of Eledhwen's movements soon enough to form some sort of plan.

He slipped silently back into his chambers five minutes later, stripping his shirt over his head as he closed the door behind him. Iralen's breathing was still deep and even, but he knew with the lightest touch of his mind that she was awake. "Where did you go?" she whispered, rolling over at the quiet click of the door handle.

Drizzt pulled his boots off and walked silently to the bed. "I spoke with Bruenor," he answered honestly, knowing it was impossible to lie to her.

Iralen sighed. "I don't want to drag his people into this, Drizzt. They cannot fight my father."

She heard the soft sound of the rest of his clothing landing atop their little dresser just before he slid into bed beside her. "I did not ask him to fight," he reassured her, pulling her into his arms. "He will gather intelligence for us. I don't want Varmil to take us by surprise."

She snuggled up beside him, her fingertips tracing the ridges of his finely muscled chest. "I wish I'd been born to any other family," she whispered. "I wish my name didn't hang so heavily over us, beloved."

Drizzt kissed her gently, wishing he could banish her fears. But then her hand moved lower, caressing her way down his abdomen to his hard thigh, and he felt desire beginning to replace her fear. He nipped her earlobe teasingly. "Something tells me you missed me, Iralen," he murmured softly in her ear.

She pushed him onto his back and slid atop him, smiling at the fire that kindled in his lavender eyes as she took his hands and pressed them against the pillow. "I intend to make you pay dearly for leaving me alone," she promised wickedly.

His entire body burned with anticipation. "I am your slave," he whispered, shivering as she brushed her hair across his chest. "Torment me as you will. I am at your mercy, _melamin._" And she made him beg for mercy before she gave it to him, much, much later.


	23. Love

King Varmil arrived three days later.

Iralen knew the moment the dwarven messenger ran into the Great Hall at breakfast that her father had come. Even before the dwarf had finished his report, she rose from the table and left, not needing to hear his words.

Drizzt followed her back to their chambers, neither speaking. She removed her worn and beloved fighting gear and folded it carefully before pulling on her only gown, the fine green silk dress Regis had given her so long ago during her convalescence in Lonelywood. Her hands shook when she reached for the scrimshaw comb as memories flooded her mind.

Drizzt took it from her nerveless fingers and slowly combed her hair, feeling her turbulent emotions and sending faith and love and courage back to her. Iralen took a deep breath as he twisted the dark strands into a thick braid.

"I remember the first time you did this," she whispered. "It was then I knew that I loved you."

Drizzt kissed her shoulder as he laid aside the comb. "It is not the last time I will do this, _melamin_," he murmured. "Do not despair, Iralen. We will not be parted. You can tell him I am your slave, that you have bewitched me so that I am not dangerous—"

Iralen shook her head violently. "I will not lie," she said firmly. She turned and looked him in the eye, and Drizzt was greatly reassured to see the fire in those jade depths once more. "You are my _verno'_, not my slave, and I will not deny our bond!"

He pulled her into his arms for a kiss that lost none of its passion for its forced brevity. "I love you," he whispered against her lips. "No matter what happens, remember that."

He led her from their chamber then before either of them could lose their nerve. Bruenor, Regis, Catti-brie and Wulfgar awaited them at the gate. "We're coming with you," Wulfgar said, his jaw set stubbornly.

"Ye won't talk us out of it, so save yer breath," Bruenor added, seeing Iralen open her mouth to argue.

Then Regis noticed Drizzt's bare waist. "Where are your blades?" he asked, realizing he'd never seen the drow without his weapons.

But it was Iralen who answered. "This is my battle," she said, her face pale but her eyes blazing. "I will fight it alone, for both of us."

"Not alone," Drizzt murmured, squeezing her hand tightly. "We are _veru'._ You will not walk into danger alone," he repeated the words she'd once spoken to him.

Together the six friends left the safety of Mithril Hall to face the King of the Elves on the mountain slope. Iralen led the little band, walking a little way ahead of them. Drizzt wanted with all his heart to walk beside her but understood that she needed to do this alone. He sent a steady stream of reassurance to her, carried on a swift undercurrent of faith and love. The others flanked the drow, all uncomfortably aware of their empty hands, for following Drizzt's lead they had left their weapons behind. This was not a confrontation that would be won with hammer and bow and axe.

They saw the Elven host as soon as they left the hidden doors of Mithril Hall. It seemed to stretch for miles, a great sea of golden hair and glinting weapons. Iralen halted about halfway down the slope on a relatively level patch of ground, and a small group detached itself from the main army and approached.

Iralen's heart slowly ceased its panicked racing as they neared. This was the moment she'd dreaded for the last three years, and now it had come. No matter what happened now, it would soon be over.

Then she saw her father and her heart contracted with guilt. Tall, regal and proud, Varmil's blue eyes sought hers with unconcealed anxiety. Unlike the golden-haired soldiers surrounding him, Varmil's hair was as dark as Iralen's. But the once-sable mane was now streaked with silver, and his ever-youthful face showed the creases of much worry. "Veryien!" Varmil cried, pushing through his escort and running to his daughter, hardly seeming aware of anything but her.

Iralen went to his embrace with tears in her eyes. In her fear that she would be separated from Drizzt she had forgotten how her father must have worried about her over the years since she'd left without a word. "I'm all right," she said, unable to believe she'd feared him so much an hour ago. "I'm fine, Papa."

"You don't know what I've been through," Varmil murmured, rocking his daughter in his arms as he had from her earliest memories. "I didn't know if you were alive or dead, if you needed me! Why did you run away?"

Iralen broke away at last, remembering Amandir and Varmil's insistence on their marriage. "You know why I left," she said, a hint of reproach in her voice. "I could not wed Amandir, and you would not listen to me. He found me three years ago, Papa. He kidnapped me and beat me, and I—I killed him." Iralen did not look away as she said this, feeling Drizzt's support running through her.

But Varmil did not seem surprised. "You were right about Amandir," he said, and Iralen's eyebrows rose with shock. Seeing this, Varmil indicated one of the elves in his guard, and Iralen looked again into Norfindel's eyes. "As soon as Norfindel returned he told me about Amandir's expedition," the king said. "But you haven't told me everything, Veryien. Norfindel said you had chosen a mate. Where is he?"

And then Drizzt stepped forward from the line of companions, and Varmil's eyes bulged. "_Fylnel?_" he gasped, the elven word for Drow. His arms dropped from Iralen and he stumbled back in shock. "No!" he cried, and he raised a hand to point at Drizzt's heart as his archers drew their bows.

But Iralen cried out, "_Tinechor vara!_" even as Varmil cast his spell to obliterate Drizzt.

Fire shot from Varmil's fingertips straight at Drizzt even as many bolts of lightning slammed into the ground around the drow, vaporizing the arrows and deflecting the Elven King's fire into the heavens. The companions fell back, shielding their eyes, and when the last rolling clap of thunder died Drizzt still stood, staring in disbelief at Iralen.

Seeing her conjure flowers was one thing. He had had no idea she was this powerful!

Varmil also stared at his daughter. "You defend the _fylnel_?" he demanded in horrified disbelief.

Iralen ripped the sleeves of her gown away, exposing the _vestamire,_ which again blazed with light. Drizzt pushed the sleeves of his shirt up on his forearms, revealing his matching bracers. "We are _veru'_," Iralen declared without hesitation or shame. "He is not like his bloodthirsty kin. I was right about Amandir, wasn't I? Believe me now, Papa!" Varmil only shook his head, speechless. Iralen stepped closer, laying a hand on her father's arm. "Are all elves good, Papa? No! You just tried to murder a living being because of the color of his skin. Yet you would have given me to Amandir despite everything you knew in your heart because his skin was light and his family was noble! Is that right? Is that good and fair?"

"He is a drow, Veryien!" Varmil hissed.

"He saved my life, Papa!" Iralen insisted. The king closed his eyes and turned his face away as if battling pain too great to bear, but she refused to give up her argument. She took hold of his other arm, too, and shook him. "_Don't look away!_ I would have died three years ago if not for him! Is that the act of an evil monster? Would a selfish, immoral creature even enter the soul-bond with another? You are known as a wise and honorable ruler. Will you ignore all of his actions and judge him based solely on the color of his skin? If you do then I am ashamed to be your daughter!"

"For pity's sake, girl!" Varmil roared, finally opening his eyes again. "You have made your damned point!"

Iralen fell silent then, her heart pounding. She looked back at Drizzt, standing quite still within the charred circle of her spell, and drew a deep breath. Everything rested on her father's decision, for although she had come up with a powerful spell and spared Drizzt once, she knew it had been surprise more than superior skill that had truly saved him. And if Varmil destroyed Drizzt, Iralen's life would not be worth living alone.

Then Drizzt stepped forward, coming to Iralen's side. Varmil stared at him, eyes narrowing, but he did not raise his hand to blast him to oblivion as the drow bowed deeply before him.

"Majesty," Drizzt said with deepest respect, "I come before you unarmed."

Varmil held up a hand, cutting him off. "Tell me, drow," he said, his lip curling, "how many elves have you killed?"

"None," Drizzt said truthfully, holding the king's sapphire eyes with his own. "I take no pleasure in killing and do so only when there is no other choice."

"He did not even kill Amandir," Iralen added softly, taking Drizzt's hand in one of hers and her father's in the other. "I did that, Papa."

Varmil stared hard into Drizzt's lavender eyes for a long time, and the drow did not look away. At last the king sighed. "I can find no lie in your eyes," he admitted gruffly. "But the drow are notoriously skilled at deception in all its forms," he added.

"Or I might be telling the truth," Drizzt countered.

Iralen squeezed their hands. "Please," she said. "I love you both. Papa, can't you try? Let your army camp here and stay in Mithril Hall with us. Open your mind and come to know my _verno'._"

Varmil's jaw clenched at the sound of the word and he looked down at his daughter with obvious pain. "Veryien—"

"You thought I was dead," she whispered. "Instead I have found the other half of my soul, and his skin is dark. Is this truly so much worse?"

Varmil was silent for a long time, staring down at his daughter. She didn't look away. At last he looked again at the drow. "What is your name?" he asked, and somehow he managed to speak the words without malice.

"Drizzt Do'Urden, Sire," he replied.

The king's eyes narrowed slightly. "I have heard of a ranger by that name," he said, frowning, "but I thought he was an elf."

"Many do," Drizzt agreed. He reached into the neck of his shirt–slowly, knowing the archers still aimed for him–and pulled out a pendant carved in the likeness of a unicorn, the symbol of his goddess Mielikki. It was also his ranger mark.

Varmil looked at the pendant in surprise, glancing once at his daughter before returning his gaze to the drow. "You are that ranger?" he asked, and Drizzt nodded. "I have heard some tales," Varmil said after several moments' deep thought. "Never did they mention that you were _fylnel._"

"My friends tend to overlook it," Drizzt replied. He felt Iralen holding her breath beside him and wished he could send reassurance to her, but he felt the same way himself. Beneath their words a deep and treacherous current flowed, and he dared not take his mind from the play of words lest he be swept off his feet and lost.

Varmil glanced over Drizzt's shoulder and seemed to notice for the first time Bruenor, Wulfgar, Catti-brie, and Regis still standing in a line behind them. "I count two kings among those friends," he said in clear amazement. "They also stand unarmed. Why is this?"

"All know your fair-minded reputation, King Varmil," Drizzt said, choosing his words carefully, "knowing you do not strike without cause. They stand thus only to show support."

Varmil inclined his head wryly, knowing that Drizzt remembered the fiery bolts aimed at him only minutes before. "Know this, then, ranger," the king said abruptly, straightening and looking Drizzt straight in the eye. "If you ever give me cause I will indeed strike, and next time my sweet daughter will not stop me." Then he kissed Iralen on the cheek and turned back to his escort. "Go back to the main company," he commanded. "Set up camp, but do not set up my canopy. I will accept the hospitality of Mithril Hall."

Iralen went limp with relief against Drizzt and he caught her in a tight hug. Varmil watched them, satisfied that he had made Drizzt sweat sufficiently for the honor of being wed to his daughter. True, he would never have chosen a drow for Veryien, but when it came to the soul-bond there was no choice. If an elf found his soul-mate, he claimed her or lost that part of himself forever, as Varmil knew only too well. He would never forget the day Senia had died, taking half his soul with her.

Despite his initial fury and loathing at the sight of the drow, when he had seen the _vestamire_ on Veryien's arms Varmil had entertained no further ideas of burning the drow alive. That didn't mean he was happy with the idea that his most beloved daughter's soul-mate was a drow, but he would never cause her the same pain and horrible emptiness he lived with every day by killing Drizzt once he knew they were _veru'_. It had brought the king considerable relief to learn that this particular drow was the famous ranger whose legend had reached even his southern kingdom.

He prodded his daughter in the back. "Come on," he said gruffly. "It's cold out here." And he followed his daughter and her husband into Mithril Hall.

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The End! Hope y'all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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